SONGS  OF 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 


SONGS 


OF 


NEW-SWEDEN 


BY 

ARTHUR    PETERSON 


NEW    EDITION 
CAREFUIvIvV     REVISED     BY 

THE     AUTHOR 


THE  ENGBRRG-HOLMBERG  PUB.  CO. 
CHICAGO 


Copyright    1913 
By   ARTHUR     PETERSON 


NOTE 

The  first  permanent  settlement  upon  the  banks  of 
the  Delaware  was  made,  as  is  well  known,  by  the 
Swedes;  and  the  whole  country  from  the  falls  of  the 
river  (where  now  stands  Trenton)  to  the  capes  was 
-originally  called  New-Sweden.  From  the  landing  of 
Peter  Minuit,  in  1638,  down  to  the  time  of  William 
Penn  (a  period  of  nearly  half  a  century)  the  lan 
guage  and  customs  of  Sweden  held  almost  exclusive 
sway  along  the  Delaware.  Now,  save  the  old  church 
es  at  Philadelphia  and  Wilmington,  and  the  Swedish 
names  which  still  dot  the  chart  of  the  river,  scarcely 
anything  remains  to  tell  the  modern  inquirer  of  a 
time  which  has  almost  escaped  the  pen  of  the  legend 
ary. 

Although  the  last  four  of  these  poems  treat  of 
events  which  occurred  after  the  close  of  the  Swedish 
dominion,  and  during  the  rule  of  the  Knglish,  it  has 
not  seemed  inappropriate  to  include  them  under  one 
head  with  the  others. 

A.  P. 
Red  Gates 

Overbrook,   Pennsylvania 
August  1.  1912 


DEDICATION 

These  to  my  father's  memory,  since 
He  held  them  best  of  all  my  lays, 
I  dedicate:  these  rhymes  of  days 

Whose  hero  was  the  doughty  Printz; 

When  on  this  shore  the  Northmen  dwelt, 
And  in  these  streams  their  shallops  laved, 
While  yet  the  primeval  forest  waved, 

And  ere  the  form  of  Penn  here  knelt. 

Farewell,  New-Sweden,  quaint,  to  thee! 
Forerunner  of  that  city  fair 
Before  whose  gates  the  Delaware 

Rolls  his  dark  waters  to  the  sea. 

Farewell,  ye  children  of  the  North! 
Forgotten  are  those  earlier  days, 
And  few  the  pens,  like  mine,  to  praise 

Your  simple  lives,  your  pious  worth. 


PROLOGUE 

I  sing  a  time  when  o'er  this  region  waved 
The  flag  of  Sweden;  when  the  Delaware's  flood 
Was  yet  unnamed  by  English  tongue;  when  dwelt 
By  many  a  creek,  on  many  a  sunny  knoll, 
The  fair-haired,  sturdy  children  of  the  north. 

Three  hundred  years,  almost,   have  come  and  gone 
Since  on  this  strand,  with  banners  waving  bright, 
Fair  Scandia  set  her  foot.     What  shapes  arise 
From  out  the  past,  and  gather  round  me!     What 
Forgotten  sounds  accost  my  ear!     I  see 
The  log-built  fort  on  Tinicum,  the  flag 
Which  hangs  so  drowsily  in  the   summer  air, 
The  sentries  pacing  to  and  fro,  the  flash 
Of  bayonets  in  the  sun.     I   see  the  quaint 
Costumes  of  Sweden  as,   on  Sabbath  days, 
The  people  gather  to  the  church:  a  tongue 
Unknown  by  us  they  speak.     Ah,   like  a  dream, 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Useless  to  call  to  mind,  that  simpler  time 

To  the  keen  race  which  treads  our  streets  to-day. 

These  half-forgotten  stories,  culled  with  love 

From  books  scarce-known,  take,  you  who  care  to  read. 


10 


I. 

THE  COMING  OF  PRINTZ 

John  Printz,  a  Lieutenant-Colonel  in  the  Swedish 
Army,  (afterwards  a  General)  was  the  ablest  of  the 
Governors  of  New-Sweden;  and  is  altogether  the 
most  conspicuous  figure  in  the  history  of  the  colony. 
During  his  administration  (1643-1653)  the  settlement 
was  in  its  most  flourishing  condition.  Though 
haughty  and  domineering  in  his  relations  with  the 
Dutch,  his  conduct  toward  the  Indians  was  always  of 
the  most  friendly  character.  In  remuneration  for 
his  long  and  excellent  services  to  the  crown  of  Swe 
den,  the  Island  of  Tinicum,  in  the  Delaware,  was 
granted  to  him  and  his  heirs;  but  he  tired  of  the  un 
eventful  life  of  a  colony;  and,  in  1653,  returned  to 
the  mother  country. 

What  flag  is  that?     What  ships  are  they 
WThich  round  Henlopen's  cape, 

11 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

And  o'er  the  blue  waves  of  the  bay, 

Their  gallant  courses  shape? 
'Tis  warlike  Sweden's  banner  bright; 

And  hers  these  vessels  three, 
Which  long  have  stretched  their  wings  in  flight, 

"Fame,"   "Swan,"  and  "Charity." 
Behind  the  old  world  looms  in  dreams, 

The  new  world  lies  before, 
A  land  like  paradise  it  seems 

To  Printz,  the  governor. 

A  soldier  he,  with  visage  stern, 

And  heart  that  knows  not  fear; 
He  fights  where'er  his  colors  burn, 

For  queen  and  country  dear. 
The  light  of  seas  is  in  his  eyes, 

Bred  from  old  viking  blood; 
Like  to  those  bright-haired  sires  he  hies 

Unto  the  warmer  flood. 
Strange  scents  come  to  him  from  the  sands, 

And  banks  of  salty  sward, 
Where,  on  the  Fame's  high  deck,  he  stands, 

Brown  hand  upon  his  sword. 

12 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Dark  lies  the  night  of  winter  o'er 

Homes  left  behind  the  sea; 
But  spring,  upon  this  sunny  shore, 

Already  wakes  the  lea. 
In  groups  the  Swedish  farmers  smile, 

And  stroke  the  yellow  beard; 
And  rosy  matrons  lift,  awhile, 

Sweet  children  to  be  cheered. 
Xo  longer  round  the  voyagers  heaves 

The  blue  brine  of  the  bay; 
Each  prow  the  stately  river  cleaves, 

And  drinks  the  freshening  spray. 

Strange  figures  gather  to  the  shore, 

Bedecked  with  skins  and  paint; 
Wild  as  that  forest  o'er  whose  floor 

They  range  without  restraint. 
But  friendly  is  the  martial  hand 

Of  Printz,  the  Governor; 
Like  brother  steps  he  on  their  land, 

Peace  in  his  mien,   not  war. 
In  ear-shot  of  the  Swedish  drum 

Dark  sachems  hunt  and  tilt; 

13 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 


And  love  the  Isle  of  Tinicum, 
Where  Printz's  Hall  is  built. 

II 

PRINTZ'S  HALL 

"Printz  seems  to  have  come  to  America,"  says 
William  C.  Armor,  in  "Lives  of  the  Governors  of 
Pennsylvania,"  "with  the  expectation  of  holding  court 
in  the  New  World  with  all  the  formality  and  insignia 
of  royalty  preserved  by  the  petty  potentates  of  Europe. 
He  is  represented  by  De  Vries,  who  came  in  a  ship 
from  New  Amsterdam  to  visit  him  in  October,  1643, 
as  a  man  very  furious  and  passionate,  immense  in 
person,  weighing  over  four  hundred  pounds,  and  as 
drinking  'three  drinks  at  every  meal.'  (De  Vries 
probably  means  three  bottles.)  He  was  difficult  of 
access,  requiring  communication  to  be  made  to  him 
in  writing.  He  built  himself  a  palace  suited  to  his 
rank,  in  the  midst  of  orchards  and  pleasure-grounds, 
the  bricks  used  in  its  construction  having  been 
brought  from  Stockholm.  These  bricks,  of  a  pale- 
yellow  color,  and  quite  small,  are  still  found  in  the 
neighborhood." 

14 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

"Printz's  Hall,"  says  Benjamin  Ferris,  in  his 
"History  of  the  Original  Settlements  on  the  Dela 
ware,"  "stood  more  than  160  years,  and  was  at  last 
burnt  down  by  accident,  since  the  commencement  of 
the  present  (19)  century." 


My  heart  goes  back  to  rhyme 
Upon  that  olden  time ! 
Three  hundred  years   are  fled, 
The  ancient  speech  is  dead, 
Since  on  the  isle  of  Tinicum, 
Green  as  an  emerald  fair, 
Rimmed  by  the  Delaware, 
Was  heard  the  morning   drum, 
Or  evening  church-bells'  chime. 
Eyeing  the  drowsy  flood, 
A  mighty  mansion  stood; 
Builded  of  brick  and   wood 
Carried  from  Sweden's   shore 
By  Printz,   the  Governor. 
Herein  he  drank  his  wine, 
Watching  the  river  shine 

15 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Beyond  the  level  fields. 

Here,  proud  and  wild, 

The  sachems  filed, 

And  found  him  just  and  mild. 

But  never  yields 

The  sword  he  wields, 

Nor  pales  his  brow  of  tan, 

Before  the  Holland  man, 

Before  Manhattan's  clan. 

Gaily  and  gallantly, 

Symbol  of  victory, 

Fair  Sweden's  banner  blows, 

Nor  rival  fears  nor  knows! 


Ill 

THE  SETTLEMENT 
1. 

Give,  O  ye  Muses  of  Song,  a  sketch   of    old  days   in 

New-Sweden, 
When  o'er   the   Delaware    floated,    unchallenged,    the 

flag  of  Christina. 

16 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 


2. 

Peaceful    and    primitive,     then,     were    the    lives    and 

homes  of  the  people; 
Busily  plowed  the  farmer,   or  hunted  the  deer  in   the 

forest; 
Busily  flew  the  wheel  when  the  thrifty  housewife  sat 

spinning. 
Built  of  logs  was  each  house,   and  painted  red,  as  in 

Sweden; 
Built  of  logs  was  the  barn,  with  its  stalls  for    horses 

and  cattle; 
Round  about,  in  the  fields,   where  the  land  had  been 

cleared  of  the  forest, 
Ripened  the  Indian-corn,   to  be  ground  into  meal    for 

the  winter. 
Six  days  labored  the  folk,  but  when  rose  the  sun    of 

the  Sabbath, 
Rifle    and    plow    were    dropped,    and   the  wheel  stood 

still  in  its  corner. 
Then,  from  near  and  from  far,   to  the  churches  three 

of  the  province, 
One  at  Tinicuin,  one  at  Wiccaco,    one    at   Christina, 

17 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Gathered    the    congregations,     God-fearing    men    and 

their  households. 
Mostly    by    water    they    carne,    avoiding    the  tortuous 

wood-paths, 
Loving  the  canvas  and  oar,  and  the  sights  and  sounds 

of  the  river, 

Loving   the    lift    of   the    wave,    like    their  grim  fore 
fathers,  the  vikings. 
Picturesque  was  the  scene  as  the  people    entered    the 

church-door, 
Bach  one  wearing  the  dress    of  his    native    parish    in 

Sweden; 
Youths    in    embroidered     jackets,     and     maidens     in 

bodices  scarlet, 
Here  the  farmer  of   Smaland,    in    buckskin   waistcoat 

and  breeches, 
There,  in  her  Sunday  attire,   the  Dalecarlian  matron. 

3. 
Hardly  a  league  from  the  spot  where  now  stands  the 

city  of  Chester, 
Hardly  a  league  from    its  mills,  and  the  bustle  and  din 

of  its  ship-yards, 

18 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Lies  the  Island  of  Tinicum,  dotted    with    picturesque 
homesteads. 

Three  miles  in  length  it  extends,  in  width  a  mile  and 
a  quarter, 

Rimmed  by  the  waters  of  Darby  creek  and  the  Dela 
ware  river. 

Here,  at  the  time  of  my  tales,  were  the  Swedish  head 
quarters.     A  fortress, 

Fashioned    of    hemlock-logs,     commanded    the     creek 
and  the  river; 

Back  of  it  stood  the  church,   where  preached  from  the 
pulpit,  each  Sunday, 

Doctor  John  Campauius,   he    who    likewise    translated 

Into  the  Indian  tongue  the  catechism  written  by 
Luther; 

While  on  the  upland,  its  walls  of  yellow  brick,  carried 
from  Sweden, 

Stood  the  mansion  of  Printz,  that  Governor  doughty, 
who  figures 

Always  as  friend  of  the  Indian,   and  always  as  foe  of 
the  Dutchman. 

This,    say    the    chroniclers    old,    was    the  handsomest 
house  in  the  province, 

19 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Large,     substantially    built,    and    tastefully    furnished 

within-doors. 
Printz's    Hall    it    was    called.     Before   it    (a    fashion 

from  Holland) 
Stood  an  octagonal  pleasure-house;  round  it  a  garden 

extended, 
Where,     in    symmetrical     beds,     bloomed     hyacinths, 

tulips,  and  jonquils; 
Back,  over  slight  undulations,  orchards  of  apple    and 

pear  trees, 
Apricot,    cherry    and    peach    trees,    spread   with  their 

bountiful  harvests. 


Thus  appeared  Tinicum  Island,  thus  passed    the    old 

days  in  New-Sweden, 
When  o'er  the    Delaware    floated,    unchallenged,    the 

flag  of  Christina. 


20 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

IV 
THE  LADY  ARMAGOT 

Arnigart  (or,  as  it  is  generally  written  in  the  old 
records,  Armagot)  Pfintz,  the  daughter  of  Governor 
Printz,  accompanied  her  father  to  America,  resided 
with  him  on  Tinicum  Island,  and  there,  in  1644,  be 
came  the  wife  of  Lieutenant  John  Pappegoya.  On 
the  return  of  Printz  to  Sweden  he  left  his  son-in-law 
in  temporary  charge  of  the  province,  to  await  the  ar 
rival  of  John  Claudius  Rising,  the  newly-appointed 
Governor.  In  the  spring  of  1654,  Rising  having  ar 
rived,  John  Pappegoya  likewise  returned  to  Sweden; 
his  wife,  however,  remaining  in  the  province.  Here, 
in  the  extensive  mansion  built  by  Governor  Printz 
upon  Tinicum,  she  continued  to  dwell  for  many  years; 
alone,  save  for  a  few  servants,  and  living  an  almost 
secluded  life.  Though  sometimes  called  by  the  name 
of  her  husband,  she  was  generally  known,  both  to 
the  Swedes  and  the  Dutch,  by  her  maiden  name  of 
Armagot  Printz,  which  she  herself  always  used.  "She 
had  no  children,"  says  Dr.  George  Smith,  in  his 
"History  of  Delaware  County,"  and  this  fact  renders 

21 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 


her  long-continued  solitary  residence  on  the  Delaware 
the  more  remarkable." 

PART   FIRST. 

In  her  garden,  where  the  river 

Round  the  Isle  of  Tinicuni 
Swings  with  stately  movement  ever, 

And  the  proud  world's  voice  is  dumb, 
Like  some  spirit  of  the  spot, 
Kneels  the  Lady  Armagot. 

Still  and  cold,  in  pale  moonlight, 
Round  about  her  statues  stand; 

But  as  still  her  head  so  bright, 
And  as  cold  her  lily-hand; 

Strange  thy  heart  is  not  more  gay, 

Lady,  on  thy  wedding-day! 

Daughter  of  the  Governor, 
Of  the  gallant  Printz,  is  she; 

Who  in  many  a  godly  war 

Fought  for  Sweden,  o'er  the  sea; 

Here,  to  rule  this  gentle  land, 

Came  he  by  his  queen's  command. 

22 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

On  the  hill,  above  the  river, 

Stands  the  stately  hall  he  made; 

Round  it  lights  of  revel  quiver 
On  the  garden's  leafy  shade; 

In  it,  where  the  gay  lamps  shine, 

Smiles  the  bridegroom  o'er  his  wine. 

Pale  John  Pappegoya's  face. 

In  his  life  at  camp  and  court, 
In  his  strife  for  wealth  and  place, 

He  has  burnt  youth's  candle  short; 
But  the  yellow  gold  he  sought 
Now  a  bonny  bride  hath  brought. 

PART   SECOND. 
Ten  the  years  of  mirth  and  tears 

Which  across  the  world  have  flown; 
To  the  castles  of  his  peers, 

To  the  palace  and  the  throne, 
To  his  Sweden's  sombre  tints, 
Has  returned  the  mighty  Printz. 

Now  John  Pappegoya's  hand, 
From  the  Isle  of  Tinicum, 

23 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Rules  New-Sweden's  fertile  land; 

But  each  day  the  merry  hum 
Of  the  court  is  in  his  ear; 
Little  pleasure  finds  he  here. 

Faded  is  the  rosy  cheek 

Of  the  Lady  Armagot; 
And  her  blue  eyes  ever  seek 

Resting-place  where  he  is  not; 
In  his  breast  love's  flame  burns  dim, 
Dead  was  aye  her  heart  for  him. 

In  the  spring-time  of  the  year, 
Down  the  river,  out  the  bay, 
For  fair  Stockholm's  wit  and  cheer 

Lightly  will  they  sail  away: 
Gay  his  blood  runs  at  the  thought; 
She,  soul- sickening,  cares  for  naught. 

What  to  her  the  court,  the  dance? 

Dearer  far  the  wild  pine's  sighing. 
Once,  in  girlhood,   would  this  chance 

Have  set  golden  fancies  flying: 
Now  the  ashes  of  her  heart 
Choke  the  roses  that  would  start. 
24 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 


PART    THIRD. 

In  her  chamber,  stern  and  still, 
Stands  she,  looking  o'er  the  river; 

'Tis  to-morrow's  winds  will  fill 

Those  white  sails  which  yonder  quiver; 

'Tis  to-morrow's  dawn  so  dim 

Which  will  see  her  hence  with  him. 

Sounds  a  step  her  spirit  knows; 

Comes  her  husband  in  the  door; 
From  her  face  all  color  goes 

That  has  softened  it  before; 
With   a  voice  whose  accent  seeks 
Naught  but  bitterness,   she  speaks. 

"On  the  morrow,  when  thou  sailest, 
Wherefore  need  I  go  with  thee  ? 

Long  my  eyes  have  seen  thou  failest 
In  thy  promised  love  for  me; 

But  how  can  these  lips  reprove  thee? 

Well  thou  know'st  I  ne'er  did  love  thee. 

"In  this  house,  which  to  my  father 
Sweden  gave,  for  him  and  his, 

25 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 


Let  rne  dwell,  forever,  rather 

Than  thy  home,  whate'er  it  is; 
True  my  life  shall  be  to  thee; 
True  thou  needst  not  be  to  rne." 

Somewhat  paler  with  surprise 
Does  John  Pappegoya  grow; 

Then,  with  cold  light  in  his  eyes, 
Bows  gallantly,  and  speaks  low; 

"Madam,   I  would  hold  you  not; 

Farewell,   Lady  Armagot!" 

PART    FOURTH. 

Yellow  wave  the  autumn  willows 
Round  the  Isle  of  Tinicurn; 

Save  the  river's  little  billows, 
Plashing  ever,  all  is  dumb; 

Rank  has  grown  the  garden's  sod 

Since  the  mighty  Printz  here  trod. 

Never,  now,  within  his  hall, 

Runs  the  wine  and  rings  the  laughter; 
Seems  the  ivy  like  a  pall, 

Covering  wall  and  covering  rafter; 


26 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 


Only,  in  the  silent  spot, 
Dwells  the  Lady  Armagot. 

Years  have  come,  and  years  have  gone, 
Since  adown  the  turbid  river, 

On  that  misty  April  dawn, 
Sailed  John  Pappegoya;  never 

Knows  she,  now,  a  husband's  claim; 

Armgart  Printz  once  more  her  name. 

In  the  little  church  where  meet 
Rich  and  poor,  from  far  and  near, 

For  that  sacred  service  sweet 
To  the  pious  tongue  and  ear, 

Kneels  she,  with  her  head  so  bright 

Bowed  beneath  two  cherubs'  sight. 

Gentle  she  to  one  and  all, 

Though  for  friends  she  seems  to  care  not, 
In  her  home  no  children  call, 

Of  her  husband  ask  they  dare  not, — 
They  who,  in  her  faded  cheek, 
Read  some  grief  she  will  not  speak. 

27 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Comes  a  time  in  winter  dreary 
When  she  sickens  for  the  spring; 

Comes  a  night  when  home  her  weary 
Spirit  heavenly  angels  bring; 

May  the  God  who  gives  us  rest 

Fold  her  closely  to  his  breast! 

V 

BRITA 

PART   FIRST. 

1. 

A  mighty  hnnter  of  the  deer, 
A  fisherman  in  silent  mere, 
A  trapper  by  the  river  reed 
Was  Olaf;  his  the  huntsman's  meed. 
Azure  his  eyes,  yellow  his  beard, 
Seldom  among  men  he  appeared, 
But  down  within  the  piny  wood, 
Somewhere,  his  habitation  stood. 

2. 

A  daughter  had  he  like  himself 
In  loneliness — a  forest  elf, 
A  fairy  that  all  secrets  knew 

28 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Of  bird  and  herb  and  midnight  dew, 
Born  of  a  Lapland  mother  who 
Had  died  to  give  her  baby  birth: 
She  scarcely  seemed  to  be  of  earth. 

3. 

She  had  her  father's  eyes  so  fair, 
His  silent  ways,  his  golden  hair. 
A  harp,  nnto  whose  wondrous  string 
A  scald  of  ocean  once  did  sing, 
She  played  upon,  and  could  command 
Sweet  music  with  her  elfin  hand. 
Sometimes,  when  by  the  river's  flow 
To  sell  his  game  would  Olaf  go, 
Up  to  the  fort  on  Tinicum, 
Brita,  to  hear  the  fife  and  drum, 
And  see  the  soldiers  proud  and  gay, 
Would  trudge  beside  him  all  the  way, 
With  harp  to  help  her  roundelay, 
And  to  the  homesick  garrison 
Would  sing  old  songs  of  booty  won, 

Of  love,  and  fame, 

And  princely  name, 
And  glorious  always  was  her  pay. 
29 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

4. 

Strange  was  lier  father,  like  a  ghost 
Who  came,  then  in  the  woods  was  lost; 
Strange  had  her  Lapland  mother  been, 
Seer  of  visions  few  have  seen; 
Stranger  than  either  was  the  child, 
Singing  her  northern  ballads  wild. 

5. 

Among  the  officers  was  one 
On  whom  she  gazed  like  flower  on  sun, 
A  courtly  youth,  with  eyes  of  gray, 
Who  had  from  Sweden  sailed  away 
With  Printz,  and  would  return  some  day. 
And  when  to  him  she  sang,  sometimes, 
Her  voice  would  tremble  on  the  rhymes; 
And  cold  her  slender  hands  would  grow, 
Which  should  be  merry  with  youth's  glow; 
And  in  her  eyes,  when  he  was  near, 
There  shone  a  light  so  sad  and  clear 
It  almost  trembled  in  a  tear. 

6. 

But  to  his  mind  the  wild  song   brought 

Dreams  of  a  maid  whose  hand  he  sought, 

30 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Who,  in  her  castle  o'er  the  sea, 
Waited  for  him  so  faithfully. 
And  when,   at  even-tide,  he  saw 
Brita,  the  harper,  round  her  draw 
The  poor  and  faded  cloak  of  gray 
Which  from  her  childish  limbs  did  keep 
The  cruel  autumn  winds  away, 
He  little  knew  what  passionate  sleep 
Was  hers,  down  in  the  piny  wood, 
Where  Olaf's  habitation  stood. 

PART    SECOND. 
1. 

Spring  lightly  stepped  across  the  land, 
Scattering  wild  flowers  from  her  hand; 
And  into  sudden  maidenhood 
Bloomed  Brita,  down  in  piny  wood; 
But  to  the  soldiers  of  the  fort, 
And  to  the  sailors  of  the  port, 
Oft,  still,  she  sang  her  songs;  nor  feared 
Insult  while  Olaf's  yellow  beard 
Behind  her,  like  a  flame,   appeared. 


31 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

2. 

But  one  bright  day, 

When  summer  lay 
Over  the  land  like  mother's  smile, 

In  a  lone  spot, 

Where  men  came  not, 
She  stayed  for  Olaf;   (who,  meanwhile, 
Unto  the  Upland  people  sold 
The  booty  of  a  forage  bold) 
And  spying,  where  it  shone  so  blue, 
A  flower  that  o'er  the  river  grew, 
Upon  a  high,  outstretching  bank, 
Whose  narrow  base  the  stream  did  flank, 
She  left  her  harp  (without  whose  string, 
Accompanying,  she  would  seldom  sing) 
Below,  and  quickly  climbed  till  she 
The  treasure  clasped;  then  suddenly 
Round  her  the  forest  seemed  to  swim; 
Waves  closed  above  her;  sense  grew  dim. 

3. 

Beside  the  river  strolled,  that  day, 
An  officer  from  Tinicum; 
He  saw  the  jutting  bank  give  way, 

32 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

A  cry  he  heard,  then  all  was  dumb. 
O  bush  and  vine  retard  him  not, 
He  leaps,  a  rescuer,  to  the  spot! 
Lo,  by  the  river's  brink,  the  harp 
Of  Brita — hers  that  cry  so  sharp ! 
Lo,  in  the  deep  and  turbid  stream, 
A  figure — hers  he  could  but  deem ! 

4. 

Against  young  Axel's  heart  was  pressed 
A  bosom  ne'er  before  so  blessed; 
And  as,  from  out  the  flood,  he  bore 
Brita  in  safety  to  the  shore, 
Rested  upon  her  face  his  eyes 
In  admiration  and  surprise. 
A  dreamy  child,  old  Olaf's  lass, 
He  oft,  ere  this,  had  marked   her  pass; 
Minstrel  of  wave-girt  Tinicum, 
Whose  songs  the  soldiery  would  hum; 
But  in  a  few  swift  months  had  grown 
A  woman,  and  a  child  had  flown. 

5. 

All  pale,  upon  the  mossy  bank, 
He  laid  her,  then  beside  her  knelt; 

33 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

His  eyes  her  budding  beauty  drank, 
Within  his  heart  love's  joy  he  felt; 
While  she,   encircled  by  his  arms, 
Rested  as  though  beyond  all  harms. 

6. 

At  last,  unto  the  soldier's  ear 
Came  wandering  accents,  growing  clear, 
As  on  a  face  she  oft  had  seen 
Gazed  Brita,  with  half-conscious  mien. 
How  like  the  blue  forget-me-not 
Those  eyes  which  shone  upon  him  now! 
How  like  the  rose  those  blushes  hot 
Illuminating  cheek  and  brow! 
Then,  suddenly  rising,   she  put  off 
(So  doth  a  flower  its  calyx  doff) 
The  cloak  of  blue  which  he  had  thrown 
About  her,  and,  in  faltering  tone, 
The  flame  still  burning  on  her  cheek, 
She  tried  her  gratitude  to  speak. 

7. 

A  snap — as  of  a  broken  bush- 
Then  through   the  underwood  did  push, 

34 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

With  hunter  stride,  and  shouldered  gun, 

Olaf,  his  Upland  business  done. 

A  cloud  came  o'er  his  blue  eyes'  gleam, 

Much  mystified  he,  too,  did  seem, 

To  see,  together,  by  the  stream, 

The  officer  of  Tinicuni, 

And  Brita,  standing  wet  and  numb. 

But  when  the  story  he  had  heard, 

Told  in  his  daughter's  gentle  word, 

A  look  came  into  his  strange  face 

Such  as  had  seldom  lit  the  place; 

And,  with  a  moisture  in  his  eye 

He  left  for  the  soft  breeze  to  dry, 

He  clasped  the  soldier's  youthful  hand 

And  spoke  his  thanks;  though,  all  unmanned, 

Scarce  could  he  speak  the  words  he  planned. 

8. 

Then  from  his  shoulders  broad  he  drew 
A  cloak,  which  he  o'er  Brita  threw, 
And,  while  in  silence  Axel  stood, 
They  disappeared  within  the  wood. 


35 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

PART   THIRD. 
1. 

East  of  the  river  Delaware, 

Between  it  and  the  ocean's  wave, 

There  is  a  land  which  now  dotli  bear 

The  title  England  later  gave, 

In  honor  of  that  loyal  lord 

Who  held  fair  Jersey's  island-sward  : 

A  land  once  covered  by  the  sea 

It  is,  o'er  whose  reality 

Still  broods  the  ocean's  mystery: 

A  region  wild  and  desolate, 

Left  by  the  waters  to  its  fate: 

A  seemingly-haunted  tract:   a  land 

Of  low  pine-wood,  and  gray  sea-sand, 

And  dismal  pools,  and  marshes  old, 

And  ancient  sea-things  turned  to  mold 

Beneath  the  sand's  o'er- sweeping  fold: 

Here  once  the  Atlantic  billows  rolled. 

2. 

Hidden  in  the  depths  of  the  pine-wood, 
Here,  now,  the  home  of  Olaf  stood. 

36 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

3. 

A  lamp  is  set  in  Brita's  room, 
It  glimmers  through  the  midnight  gloom: 

Is  it  to.  guide 

Him  to  her  side 

Who  through  the  forest  now  doth  ride  ? 
If   'tis  for  that  woe  will  betide  ! 

4. 

How  pale  her  elfin  face  to-night ! 
How  trembles  she,    as  if  with  fright! 
Far  off  is  Olaf;   wassail's  sound 
The  sough  of  the  wild  pines  has  drowned; 
To  Printz,  the  merry  Governor, 
He  sells  his  game,   a  goodly  store, 
And  till  the  morrow  will  be  gone. 
Doth  Brita  fear  to  be  alone? 

Answer  ye  eyes 

Which  to  the  skies 
Like  stars  more  beautiful  arise! 

5. 

A  shadow  cometh  from  the  wood, 
It  is  a  horse  and  rider  good; 

37 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

An  eye  doth  heed  the  lonely  light, 
Shining,  like  Hero's,  through  the  night; 
A  hand  doth  knock  upon  the  door, 
Which  never  rested  there  before; 
A  kiss  doth  fall  on  Brita's  cheek, 
For  which  would  Olaf  vengeance  wreak. 

PART    FOURTH. 

1. 

Immortal  Venus,  queen  of  Love, 
What  life  is  theirs  whom  thou  dost  move ! 
What  ecstasies!     What  blinded  eyes! 
What  hearts  which  naught  save  dalliance  prize! 
What  sweet  forgetfulness  of  things 
Terrestrial,  and  of  Time's   swift  wings! 

2. 

'Tis  midnight — often  since  that  hour 
When  first  the  pines  did  round  him  lower, 
Borne  on  by  Love,  has  Axel  come, 
A  secret  guest,  to  Olaf's  home; 
Unbidden — unseen — save  by  the  one 
Who  in  her  chamber  waits  alone 
When  up  to  Tinicum  hath  gone 

38 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Her  father,  or,  upon  the  mere, 

By  torch-light,  hunts  the  antlered  deer. 

3. 

'Tis  midnight— and,  from  Brita's  room, 
A  light  shines  on  the  forest's  gloom; 
Within  how  blissful  is  the  air 
To  him  who  beauty's  bower  doth  share; 
There  are  some  jewels  in  her  hair 
Which  Axel's  hand  hath  twisted  there, 
But  plaintively  her  fingers  pass 
Over  her  harp,   as  if,   alas, 
She  felt  some  shadow  drawing  near, 
Whose  breath  did  fill  her  soul  with  fear. 
Beside  her,   at  her  gentle  feet, 
So  fair  to  see,  so  frailly  fleet 
To  wander  into  paths  unmeet, 
Sits  Axel,  winding  tresses  sweet. 

4. 

Unto  her  music  listening, 
He  does  not  speak— he  does  not  move; 
But  ever  holds  those  locks  of  love, 
About  his  fingers  glistening. 

39 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Then,   as  the  strange  chords  die  away, 
And  she  her  harp  doth  cease  to  play, 
Around  her  elfin  shape  he  flings 
His  arm,  and  to  her  thus  he  sings: 

SONG. 

"Brita,  with  her  golden  hair, 
Plays  for  me  a  wizard  air; 

Dressed  in  white 

Is  she  to-night, 
Like  a  spirit  strange  and  fair; 
Or  enchantress  who,  from  lands 
Where  no  human  foot  ere  stands, 

Draws  the  fairy 

By  the  eerie 
Music  of  her  milk-white  hands. 

uAs  the  room  her  music  fills, 

As  the  sweet,  fantastic  trills 

Wander  out  into  the  night, 

Flying  spirits  hear  aright: 

'Tis  no  melody  of  earth 

Which  thus  lures  them  from  their  mirth; 

'Tis  the  magic  of  a  hand 

40 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Skilled  to  rule  the  fairy  band; 

From  their  singing, 

Ether  winging, 
Come  they  at  the  sweet  command. 

"Circling  round  me,   as  I  sit, 
In  the  window  spirits  flit. 
Goblins  flying  past  the  moon 
Hear  the  potent  prelude  soon 
And,  in  cloaks  of  green  and  gray, 
Merrily  proceed  this  way. 
Each  upon  a  broomstick  good, 
Ride  the  witches  from  the  wood; 
Peaked  cap  and  scarlet  shoe, 
Much  the  damage  they  can  do; 
But  no  mischief-making  flight 
Meditates  this  throng  to-night. 
Now,   afloat  on  perfumed  wind 
Blowing  straight  from  fairy-land, 
All  her  nymphs  a  train  behind, 
Comes  some  queen  with  wand  in  hand. 
Spirits  dark  and  spirits  bright, 
Inky  imps  whose  day  is  night, 
Naiads  who  with  wave-drops  gleam 
41 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Fresh  from  the  pellucid  stream, 

Ghosts  of  cobwebbed  corridors 

Where  naught  human  treads  the  floors, 

All  the  mystic  beings  we 

Dream  about  but  seldom  see, 

Revel  in  this  room  to-night, 

(Round  and  round, 

As  in  a  swound) 
Where  the  elf -queen  plays  in  white. 

"Brita,  O  thou  knowest  well 

How  to  weave  the  conjurer's  spell ! 

In  what  kingdom  of  the  air 

Didst  thou,  with  thy  golden  hair, 

Learn  those  things  that  few  would  dare? 

From  what  hag,  or  wizard  old, 

Heardst  thou  first  this  witch-call  bold, 

That  from  off  the  silent  wold, 

And  from  out  the  dripping  cave, 

Brings  these  sprites  that  round  thee  rave? 

"Brita,  with  thy  magic  art 

Thou  hast  won  my  wandering  heart; 

In  the  mesh  of  thy  sweet  hair 

42 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Thou  dost  hold  it,  sorceress  fair; 
By  the  music  thou  dost  make 
Charmed,   I  have  no  wish  to  wake; 
But,   as  now,  in  sight  of  thee, — 

Dressed  in  white, 

With  jewels  bright, 
Playing  in  the  summer  night, — 
Fain  would  lie  eternally." 

5. 

A  tear  doth  shine  in  Brita's  eye, 
She  trembles  as  his  accents  die, 
Perhaps  'tis  but  the  night-wind  chill, 
Perhaps  his  singing  suits  her  ill, 
But  closer  to  him  she  doth  draw, 
As  if  a  ghost  she  felt  or  saw. 

6. 

What  ails  the  air  to-night?     What  woe 
Impending  will  the  morrow  show? 
What  thoughts  oppress  young  Axel's   heart, 
And  make  him  from  his  dreaming  start? 
What  cruel  words,   alas,  are  they 
His  faltering  lips  now  strive  to  say? 

43 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

7. 

To-morrow,  ere  the  close  of  day, 
For  Sweden  will  he  sail  away, 
To-morrow,  broken-hearted,  she 
For  the  last  time  his  face  will  see, 
To-morrow,  at  the  set  of  sun, 
For  them  will  love's  sweet  dream  be  done. 

PART    FIFTH. 

1. 

It  is  a  night  in  early  March, 

The  moon  looks  down  from  heaven's  great  arch 

Upon  a  spot  where  few  e'er  come, 

Olaf  the  hunter's  forest  home. 

The  spring  is  lengthening  fast  the  day, 

But  wintry,  still,  the  winds  which  play 

With  ancient  pine,  and  cedar  dark, 

That  on  the  sand  wild  shadows  mark; 

And  cold  the  waters  of  the  pool, 

For  hard  has  been  the  winter's  rule. 

2. 

Into  the  sight 
Of  Luna  bright 
There  comes  a  figure  dumb  and  white; 

44 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

From  Olaf' s  door, 

The  gray  sand  o'er, 

Toward  the  dark  wood  it  takes  its  flight; 
'Tis  Brita;   hers  that  golden  hair, 
That  pallid  face,  distraught  yet  fair. 

3. 

Deep  in  a  gloomy  grove  of  pine, 
Where  resinous  odors  ever  float, 
There  is  a  pool  unknown  to  line, 
And  never  crossed  by  hunter's  boat. 
A  horror  round  it  seems  to  dwell, 
Why,  those  who  pass  it  ne'er  can  tell, 
But  rumor  whispers  'tis  a  place 
Where  evil  spirits  show  the  face. 
Shunned  was  it  in  the  red  man's  day 
And  the  New-Sweden  of  my  lay. 

4. 

Upon  its  sullen  waters  deep, 
A  figure  floats  in  death's  last  sleep; 
Beautiful  as  in  a  swoon, 
All  silvered  by  the  silent  moon; 
Closed  are  those  eyes,   as  wild-flowers  blue, 
Still  is  that  heart  love's  power  o'erthrew; 

45 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Never  again,  within  this  world, 
For  her  sad  human  mysteries; 
Above  her  angels'  wings  are  furled, 
Which  soon  shall  bear  her  to  the  skies. 

5. 

At  daybreak,  when  the  east  was  red, 
By  prescient  dream,  or  instinct  led, 
There  came  a  being  desolate 
Unto  this  shore  and  pool  of  fate. 
Yellow  his  beard,  azure  his  eyes, 
After  a  daughter  sweet  he  flies, 
Brita  the  name  of  this  dear  life, 
Born  to  him  by  a  dying  wife, 
Where  hath  she  wandered  in  the  night? 
Where  doth  she  lie,  in  some  sad  plight? 

6. 

In  other  regions  is  her  soul, 
Already  hath  she  passed  death's  goal, 
It  is  not  she  that  drifts,  so  white, 
Among  the  reeds  before  his  sight, 
'Tis  but  a  body  born  of  earth, 
Though  beautiful  in  grief  or  mirth, 

46 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

She  breathes,  methinks,  iu  shape  more  fair, 
Celestial,  not   terrestrial  air! 

7. 

Where  sighing  pines  their  branches  wave 
Was  made,  with  stricken  hands,  a  grave. 
Over  it  still,   spring  after  spring, 
Their  liquid  hymn,  the  thrushes  sing; 
And  in  the  sand  sweet  blossoms  grow, 
Marking  her  dust  that  lies  below. 
But  never  more,  in  wood-path  wild, 
Or  clearing  where  the  harvest  smiled, 
Or  in  the  fort,  or  in  the  town, 
Or  by  the  river,   swollen  and  brown, 
Was  Olaf  seen,  or  heard  his  deed, 
By  Indian  swart,  or  fair-haired  Swede. 

VI 
ERIC  THE  ARCHER 

PRELUDE 
1. 

A  hostelry  in  Upland  town; l 

1  Now  Chester,  Pennsylvania.      The   name    was    changed   from    Upland 
to  Chester  by  William  Penn. 

47 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Outside  the  rain  was  pouring  down; 

Within  the  night 

With  mirth  was  bright, 
And  wassail  did  the  tempest  drown; 
The  fire  was  warm,  the  ale  was  good, 
The  landlord  in  a  jovial  mood, 
And  merrily  ran  the  Norsemen's  blood. 

2. 

Grouped  round  the  blazing  logs  of  Yule, 
Tales  of  their  forefathers  they  told; 
Of  vikings  who  the  seas  did  rule, 
Skillful  in  storm,  in  battle  bold; 

Of  one  whose  boat, 

'Tis  said,  did  float 
Once  on  this  broad  South  River's  breast: 

Whose  men  did  land 

Where  now  doth  stand 
The  Hall  of  Printz;  whose  life  was  quest; 
Who,  eagle-like,  espied  the  West 
Long  ere  the  illustrious  Genoese 
Sensed  land  upon  the  Haytian  breeze; 
Whose  galleys  sailed  from  Norway  down, 
Tost  thither  by  tempestuous  seas, 

48 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Unto  a  spot  before  ne'er  told, 

The  Vinland  of  the  Sagas  old,1 

A  region,  henceforth  of  renown— 

The  Paradise  of  Leif  the  bold; 

Unto  a  fair  and  fruitful  land 

Where,   though  implanted  by  man's  hand, 

The  purple  grape  filled  all  the  wood, 

And,   though  unsown,  from  green  to  gold, 

1  It  has  never  been  definitely  settled,  and  probably  never  will  be,  just 
where  the  Vinland  of  the  Sagas  was  situated;  but  the  writer  here  make? 
a  plea  for  the  shores  of  the  Delaware  River  and  Bay  as  being  the  site  of 
Leif's  original  landing  and  Thorfmn's  colony.  Labrador,  Newfoundland, 
Nova  Scotia  and  various  places  on  the  coast  of  New  England  have  been 
mentioned,  but  there  seems  to  be  no  locality  which  fits  the  brief  descrip 
tion  given  in  the  Saga  generally  preferred  by  scholars  (commonly  called 
Hauk's  Book/  so  well  as  the  shores  of  the  Delaware.  The  name  given 
to  the  country  by  Leif  indicates  clearly  that  one  of  the  things  which 
impressed  him  most  was  the  profusion  of  grapes  growing  wild  in  the 
forest,  and  this  feature  is  more  than  confirmed  by  the  reports  of  the 
Swedish  and  English  settlers  of  the  ijth  Century.  Rising,  the  Swedish 
governor,  and  Kalm,  the  naturalist,  both  speak  of  the  abundance  of  wild 
grapes  and  the  good  wines  (red  and  white)  to  be  made  from  them;  and 
William  Penn,  in  his  letter  of  1683  to  the  Free  Society  of  Traders,  Lon 
don,  makes  special  mention  of  the  profusion  of  wild  grapes,  "of  divers 
sorts";  and  recommends  that  a  French  wine-maker  be  sent  out  to  the 
province.  Watson,  in  his  celebrated  "Annals",  (a  veritable  storehouse 
of  information  relating  to  the  early  Swedish  and  English  settlers) 
quaintly  says:  "Numerous  incidental  intimations  and  facts  evince  the 
expectations  originally  entertained  for  making  this  a  flourishing  grape 
and  wine  country.  Before  Penn's  arrival,  the  numerous  grapevines, 
everywhere  climbing  the  branches  of  our  forest  trees,  gave  some  sanction 
to  the  idea  that  ours  may  have  been  the  ancient  Wineland  so  mysteri- 

49 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Ripened  the  corn  npon  the  wold, 

And  every  thing,  save  man,  seemed  good; 

Unto  that  land  beyond  the  seas 

Where  now,  amidst  primeval  trees 

Embowered,  stands  fair  Upland  town, 

A  new- world  gem  in  Sweden's  crown. 

3. 

Last  spoke,  with  details  long  drawn  out, 
A  learned  burgher,  hale  and  stout; 
His  hair  and  beard  with  years  were  gray, 
But  red  his  cheeks  as  apples  gay, 

And  bright  his  eyes 

As  though  youth's  skies 
Danced  over  him  but  yesterday. 
A  man  of  mark  was  he,  and  bore 

ously  spoken  of  by  the  Norwegian  writers.  Almost  all  the  navigators, 
on  their  several  discoveries,  stated  their  hopes,  from  the  abundance  of 
grape-vines,  with  exultation.  But  neglecting  these  we  have  substituted 
whiskey! " 

The  "self-sown  grain"  was  probably  the  maize,  or  Indian  corn.  As 
to  the  climate,  the  Saga  says:  "No  snow  came  there,  and  all  of  their 
live  stock  lived  by  grazing,  and  thrived."  Does  that  sound  like  a  Nev.- 
England  winter?  In  Southern  Delaware  and  Maryland,  however,  in  the 
neighborhood  of  the  Delaware  and  Chesapeake  Bays,  it  is  quite  common 
to  have  a  winter  with  practically  no  snow.  The  latitude  of  Lewes,  ft 
the  mouth  of  Delaware  Bay,  is  farther  south  than  that  of  "V/ashington, 
D.  C.;  and  the  sea  air  has  a  tendency  to  prevent  the  snow  from  lying 
on  the  ground. 

50 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

A  name  well-known  on  Sweden's  shore, 
For  of  his  blood  those  brothers  twain 
Who  figure  in  great  Vasa's  reign, 
Divines  both  bold  and  erudite, 
Born  or  to  reason  or  to  fight.1 

4. 

Their  chairs  his  listeners  nearer  pull; 
He  drains  the  glass  which  has  been  full, 
And,  while  the  lights  and  shadows  flit 
Over  the  groups  that  round  him  sit, 
Relates  the  tale  which  here   is  writ. 

ERIC  THE  ARCHER 
PART    FIRST. 

There  was  a  king  in  Norroway, 

Whose  name  was  Gorin  the  Red ; 
His  beard  was  like    a  sunrise  gay, 

1  Olaf  and  Lawrence  Peterson,  who,  in  the  reign  of  Gustavus  Vasa, 
introduced  Protestantism  into  Sweden.  They  were  born  in  Orebro,  Sweden, 
and  studied  in  Germany  under  Luther.  Olaf  was  rector  of  the  church 
in  Stockholm,  and  afterward  High  Chancellor  of  the  Kingdom.  "By  his 
preaching  and  publications,  and  the  composition  of  the  Church  Manual," 
says  Professor  Butler,  in  his  History  of  the  Reformation  in  Sweden, 
"Olaf  gave  shape  and  organization  to  the  church."  Lawrence  was  elected 
Archbishop  of  Upsal  by  the  Assembly  of  Bishops  in  1531,  at  the  age  of 
32,  and  was  the  first  Protestant  Archbishop  in  Sweden.  He  administered 
the  metropolitan  See  of  Upsal  (which  corresponds  to  that  of  Canterbury 
in  England )  for  forty  years.  He  was  ennobled,  and  married  a  cousin 
of  the  King. 

51 


SONGS   OF   NEW-SWEDEN 

And  like  the  north-light  dread 
His  royal  head. 

Of  fir  the  banquet  hall  was  built 
Where  oft  he  wassailed  long; 

When  on  the  waves  his  ships  did  tilt, 
Served  was  he,  right  or  wrong, 
By  vikings  strong. 

Round  the  far  Mediterranean's  capes 
His  white-winged  galleys  flew; 

And  like  phantasmagoric  shapes 
Rose  from  the  waters  blue. 
Whence?     No  man  knew. 

For  here  were  famous  cities  old, 
Whose  treasures  none  could  tell; 

But  each  and  all  before  the  bold 
Stroke  of  the  Norsemen  fell, 
From  fiord  and  dell. 

And  here  were  dark-eyed  maidens  sweet, 

With  lips  like  fruit  divine: 
O  booty  for  a  viking  meet, 

When,  homeward-bound,  in  line 
His  galleys  shine! 
52 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

And  here,  to  mark  his  warlike  flight, 

A  banner  Gorni  had  made; 
Whereon,   upon  a  field  of  white, 

A  raven  was  displayed, 
Worked  in  black  braid. 

It  was  the  bird  of  Odin  great, 

His  ancestor  divine; 
From  Heaven  it  bore  the  word  of  Fate, 

And  victory  did  assign, 

^  O          7 

Or  woe  condign. 

A  raven  o'er  his  helmed  brow 

Perched  in  auspicious  ease; 
A  raven  decked  his  galley's  prow, 

Sitting  above  the  seas, 
Where  swept  the  breeze. 

A  mighty  and  a  merry  king, 
In  sooth,  was  Gorni  the  Red; 

And,  next  to  battle,  loved  the  ring 
Of  song,  or  dancer's  tread; 
Gloom  from  him  fled. 

Like  Solomon  of  old  he  sipped 
The  sweets  from  many  a  flower; 
53 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Kach  sea  wherein  his  galleys  dipped 
Saw  maids  with  beauty's  dower 
Culled  for  his  bower. 

But  grizzled  grew  the  mighty  Gorm, 

And  grim  his  merry  face, 
And  came  a  time  when  woman's  form 

Suffered  he  not  to  grace 
His  dais-place. 

Where  did  the  Goddess  Freya  stay, 
Where  did  she  roam  or  rest, 

That  nevermore  in  Norroway 
Was  maid  meet  to  be  pressed 
To  kingly  breast? 

So  gloomily,  in  the  banquet-hall, 

He  sat  and  bit  his  beard; 
And  by  him  when  he  strode,  so  tall, 

No  woman's  face  appeared; 
Shunned  was  he  and  feared. 

At  last,  howe'er,  a  viking  bold 
Sought  out  the  king  and  said 
That  in  a  Lapland  village  old, 

54 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Lived  one  whom  Thor  might  wed, 
Or  Odin  dread. 

A  maiden  gentle  as  the  fawn, 
And  chaste  as  the  new  moon, 

And  beautiful  as  summer-dawn; 
The  gods  of  Asgard  soon 
WTould  grasp  such  boon. 

Far  up  the  coast  of  Norroway, 
Where  red  the  Aurora  rolled, 

Nestled  this  fishing-village  gray, 
Within  the  azure  fold 
Of  fiord  so  cold. 

Then  Gorm  bethought  him  of  a  youth 

Ready  to  do  or  die, 
And  in  his  simple  word  was  truth, 

And  in  his  frank  blue  eye 
Shone  honor  high. 

Eric  the  Archer  was  he  called; 
So  swift  and  sure  his  arrow 
That,  lightning-like,  so  sang  the  scald, 
Armor,  flesh,  bone  and  marrow 
Its  fang    would  harrow. 
55 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

To  him  then  spoke  King  Gorm  the  Red: 
"Take  thou  good  galleys  three, 

And,  that  to  her  I  may  be  wed, 
This  maiden  o'er  the  sea 
Bring  back  to  me." 

PART    SECOND. 
Sped  the  archer  Eric  then, 
Gathered  ships  and  arms  and  men, 
Sailed  away  into  the  north, 
Where  the  beard  of  Thor  streams  forth, 
Sailed  away  unto  that  land 
Ruled,    'twas  said,  by  warlock's  hand, 
Land  of  Lapp  and  Finn,  whose  shape 
Endeth  in  the  polar  cape. 

Bright  the  ships  of  Eric  shone 
In  these  waters  gray  and  lone; 

Golden-headed , 

Ocean- wedded, 
Stared  his  dragons  o'er  the  deep. 

Save  when  anchored, 

Or  age-cankered, 
Ne'er  the  Norseman's  horses  sleep! 

56 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Red  the  warriors'  shields  did  ride 

All  along  each  dragon's  side; 

Scales  impenetrable  seemed 

When  athwart  the  coast  they  gleamed. 

Thus,  with  banner  and  with  spear, 

Bringing  wonderment  and  fear, 

Sailed  the  archer  Eric  forth, 

Till  the  Arctic  seas  he  felt; 

Far  away  into  the  north, 

Where  the  maiden,  Signe,  dwelt. 

Ronnd  and  round  the  polar  sun, 

Like  a  wheel,  each  day  did  run; 

Never  sank  in  all  his  flight, 

But,  when  it  should  be  midnight. 

Over  earth  and  ocean  he 

Cast  a  light  of  mystery, 

Wherein  all  things  seemed  to  be 

Things  of  unreality; 

Cast  a  preternatural  light, 

Like  the  ether  which  makes  bright 

Dreamland  to  a  dreamer's  sight. 

Last  his  galleys  Eric  brought 
Safely  to  the  haven  sought, 

57 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

And  right  garrulous  found  the  folk, 
When  of  Signe  fair  he  spoke. 
Ne'er  was  such  a  lovely  face 
Seen  before  in  all  this  place; 
Such  a  charming  foot  and  hand 
In  this  or  any  other  land; 
Freya,  with  her  golden  hair, 
Than  this  maid  was  not  more  fair. 

From  his  galleys  and  their  men 
Went  the  archer  Eric  then, 
And  the  maiden  Signe  found 
In  her  simple  raiment  gowned. 
When  she  heard  his  steps  draw  near, 
Quickly  she,  in  sudden  fear, 
Turned,  as  does  the  startled  deer: 
Sure  a  king  was  he  who  came, 
Red  his  mantle  as  a  flame, 
Round  his  neck  a  golden  torque, 
Beard  divided  like  a  fork, 
On  his  helm  a  raven  sat, 
And  upon  the  shield  he  bore, 
Outlined  on  its  surface  flat, 
Likewise  perched  the  bird  of  war. 

58 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 


Low  he  bowed  before  the  maid, 
W7ho  her  heart  did  thus  upbraid: 
Heart,  why  shouldst  thou  be  afraid 
Of  a  prince  so  fair  and  tall? 
May  be  at  my  feet  his  all 
Lays  he  as,  by  beauty  won, 
Kings  in  sagas  old  have  done. 

Then  the  word  of  Gorm  the  Red 
Eric  spoke;  but  nothing  said 
Of  the  love  which  filled  his  heart 
As  he  watched  the  blushes  start 
On  the  maiden's  cheeks  and  brow; 
Not  for  him  was  Signe  noAv; 
Said  no  word,  and  made  no  sign 
Of  the  heart  which  in  him  bled; 
But,  across  the  bitter  brine, 
Bore  her  to  King  Gorm  the  Red. 

PART  THIRD 
The  king  was  drinking  in  his  hall, 

The  day  was  growing  dim, 
When,  ere  the  autumn  night  did  fall, 
This  word  was  brought  to  him. 
59 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

The  ships  had  come;  no  longer  he 

A  fitting  mate  should  lack; 
Bold  Eric,  with  his  galleys  three, 

Had  brought  the  maiden  back. 

Like  snow  was  Signe's  forehead  fair, 
Her  eyes  like  sapphires  bright, 

And  fays  had  spun  her  golden  hair 
Out  of  the  fine  sunlight. 

If  but  the  king  this  maid  would  place 

Before  his  royal  eyes, 
He'd  own  such  loveliness  would  grace 

Valhalla's  companies. 

Then  loudly  laughed  King  Gorm  the  Red; 

For  many  a  night  and  day; 
Not  thus  had  wagged  his  grizzled  head, 

Nor  been  his  mood  so  gay. 

"Go  bid  my  bride  be  fitly  dressed; 

And  bid  her  wear  the  ring 
Of  that  dark  princess  I  did  wrest 

From  Sicily's  proud  king; 

60 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

"Ay,  bid  her  choose  whatever  silk 

Is  fairest  to  her  taste; 
And  rubies  red,   and  pearls  of  milk, 

Which  now  their  beauty  waste; 

' '  For  if  right  well  she  pleases  me, 

And  well  she  will,  I  ween, 
Ere  sinks  to-morrow  in  the  sea 

This  girl  shall  be  my  queen." 

He  swore,  with  wagging  head,   an  oath; 

By  Odin  great  he  swore; 
And  one  and  all,  to  laugh  not  loath, 

Joined  in  the  merry  roar. 

The  sun  of  morning- tide  had  run 

Full  half-way  up  the  sky 
When,  fairer  than  that  morning  sun, 

Rose  Signe  with  a  sigh. 

She  chose  a  silk  of  blue  to  grace 
Her  young  and  slender  form, 

And  in  her  golden  locks  did  place 
The  jewels  of  King  Gorm. 

61 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

A  monarch  great  was  he  who  brought 

Such  treasures  o'er  the  sea; 
"But  rather  would  I  live  unsought, 

Than  be  his  bride,"  said  she. 

Now  with  the  brooch  that  suits  her  best, 

And  in  her  silk  of  blue, 
Her  gentle  body  she  hath  dressed, 

Though  sad  her  spirit  true. 

And  to  the  king's  house  she  doth  go, 

Where,  in  his  banquet-hall, 
Already  walks  Gorm  to  and  fro, 

And  for  his  bride  doth  call. 

Admiringly  the  vikings  stare, 

Opens  the  scald  his  eyes; 
So  beauteous  she  the  very  air 

Seems  smitten  with  surprise. 

Right  down  before  the  monarch's  feet 

Her  loveliness  she  throws; 
Ah,  surely,  such  a  suppliant  sweet 

Friends  round  her  finds,  not  foes! 

62 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

<(O  king,"  she  cries,  "O  royal  Gorm, 

Who  rulest  all  this  land, 
Fairer  than  mine  should  be  the  form 

Of  maid  who  seeks  thy  hand. 

"Free  then,  I  pray,  this  peasant  life, 

Decked  now  in  raiment  gay; 
One  nobler  take  thou  for  thy  wife, 

And  bid  me  go  my  way!" 

The  king  in  mute  surprise  did  stare, 

While,  moveless,  on  the  floor 
Yet  Signe  knelt;  a  sight  so  fair 

Gorm  ne'er  had  seen  before. 

He  spoke  at  last.      "What,  dost  thou  fear 

The  king,  my  pretty  one? 
Fear  not,  but  listen.     Far  and  near, 

In  climes  of  snow  and  sun 

"I've  roamed,  an  eagle  strong  and  fleet; 

But  ne'er  beheld  my  eyes, 
In  any  land,  a  maid  so  meet 

To  be  my  queen.     Arise!" 

63 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

He  stooped  above  her  golden  head, 

He  took  her  hand  so  white; 
Her  face  was  like  that  of  one  dead, 

It  was  a  piteous  sight. 

('O  king,"  she  said,   "my  lips  are  cold, 

I  cannot  marry  thee; 
There  is  another  who  doth  hold 

The  heart  thou  seek'st  from  me." 

Watching  the  scene  with  troubled  eye, 

Not  far  off,  Eric  stood; 
A  sudden  joy,  he  scarce  knew  why, 

Thrilled,   at  these  words,  his  blood. 

Then  dropped  King  Gorm  his  manner  bland, 

And  Signe's  gentle  cheek, 
Though  lightly,  struck  with  angry  hand, 

She  standing  wan  and  weak. 

Like  frightened  deer,  that  scents  the    chase, 

But  knows  not  where  to  fly, 
Then,    suddenly,  with  wild  eyes,  a  place 

Of  refuge  doth  descry. 

64 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

The  maiden  gazed  upon  the  throng 

Of  strange  and  bearded  men 
Until,  a  friend  her  foes  among, 

The  archer  she  did  ken. 

Toward  him  whose  face  she  knew  so  well 
Straight  flew  this  quarry  sweet; 

Then,  with  a  cry  distressful,  fell, 
Unconscious,  at  his  feet. 


"Ho,  ho,"  the  monarch,   scowling,   cried, 

1  'All  now,  methinks,  I  know; 
To  steal  his  king's  intended  bride 

My  bowman  was  not  slow  ! ' ' 

Spoke  out  the  archer  Eric  then: 
"O  king,  wrong  is  thy  thought; 

This  maiden,  with  my  ships  and  men, 
From  Lapland's  shore  I  brought; 

' '  But  never  uttered  I  one  word, 

Nor,  knowingly,  made  sign, 
\Vhich  could  with  love  for  me  have  stirred 

Her  heart,  that  should  be  thine." 

65 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

"Thou  liest,"  roared  the  enkindled  Gorni, 

His  face  convulsed  with  rage; 
Round  them  the  berserkers  did  swarm, 

And  saga- tellers  sage: 

"Thou  liest,  and  if  thou  hadst  not  blood 

Of  Odin  in  thy  veins, 
This  night  a  wheeling  raven's  food 

Thou  shouldst  be  for  thy  pains. 

"Howbeit,  since  one  of  my  kith 

Thou  art,  if  not  my  kin, 
And  I  a  warrior  bargain  with, 

This  maiden  thou  may'st  win. 

"Right  oft  have  I  thy  merry  jest 

At  other  bowmen  heard; 
Thy  boast  that  thou,  of  all  the  best, 

Couldst  wing  the  flying  bird, 

"And  (so  unerring  that  dart's  flight 
Which  thou  on  string  dost  lay) 

Couldst  pierce  with  ease  an  apple  bright, 
Paces  three- score  away. 

66 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

"Seek,  therefore,  cunning  for  thy  hand, 
And  teach  thy  heart  to  dare, 

For  on  the  morrow  thon  shalt  stand 
Before  this  maiden  fair 

"And,  ere  her  beanty  thou  dost  wed, 

An  apple  ronnd  and  gay 
Shalt  shoot  from  off  her  golden  head, 

Paces  three-score  away." 

PART    FOURTH. 

Bright  rose  the  morning 
O'er  Norway's  mountains, 
Hamlets  and  blue  fiords, 
And  on  Gorm's  dwelling 
Fell  the  sun's  lances. 
Outside  the  great-hall 
Touched  they  the  helmets 
Of  captains  and  warriors, 
Standing  accoutered, 
Waiting  in  silence 
For  the  king's  order. 
Gay  the  men's  mantles, 
Blue  like  the  ocean; 

67 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

But,  like  the  inoor-land 
In  dreary  mid- winter, 
Sad  were  their  faces. 
Soon  from  his  prison 
Were  they  to  lead  forth 
Eric  the  Archer; 
Him  whom  they  all  loved , 
Him  who  in  battle 
Oft-times  had  led  them. 
When  in  mid -welkin 
The  sun  shone  at  noontide, 
Then  would  the  monarch's 
Word  be  accomplished, 
Mandate  most  cruel. 
Then  with  his  long-bow, 
Yew  tipped  with  silver, 
Won  from  the  Briton, 
Eric  the  Archer 
At  a  red  apple 
Placed  on  the  golden 
Tresses  of  Signe 
Daringly  would  shoot. 
May  mighty  Odin 
Guide  the  swift  arrow! 
68 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Pale  from  his  prison 
Came  forth  the  archer, 
But  in  his  bosom 
Stoutly  his  heart  beat, 
And  in  his  glances 
Glittered  a  purpose. 

Only  when  saw  he 
Signe  the  maiden 
Standing  so  calmly 
Under  the  linden, 
Clad  in  the  gray  gown 
As  he  first  met  her, 
Over  his  blue  eyes 
(Dim  for  a  moment) 
Passed  he  his  fingers, 
And  unto  Odin, 
Blessed  All-Father, 
Rose  a  prayer  fervent. 

Then  on  her  bright  head 
Placed  he  an  apple, 
And  her  eyes  covered, 
Lest  she  should  tremble 
69 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

When  from  his  longbow 
Flew  the  swift  arrow. 
No  word  of  passion, 
No  word  of  parting, 
Spoke  he  unto  her; 
No  kiss  between  them 
Passed  for  a  token; 
But  without  language 
(So  'tis  with  lovers) 
Held  they  last  converse; 
And  without  kisses 
Each  knew  the  other. 

On  a  black  stallion, 
Splendid  with  trappings, 
Sat  the  Red  Monarch. 
Stern  was  his  visage, 
Cruel  his  gray  eye, 
As  on  the  people 
Gazed  he  at  noontide; 
Noting  fair  Signe 
Under  the  linden, 
And,   in  his  red  cloak, 
Eric  the  Archer, 
70 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Who  from  his  quiver 
Drew  forth  two  arrows. 

Silent  the  people, 
Silent  the  soldiers. 
Scarce  breathed  the  women. 
Deftly  the  archer 
One  of  the  arrows 
Stuck  in  his  girdle, 
Fitting  the  other 
Into  his  long-bow; 
Then,  with  aim  steady, 
Shot  toward  the  maiden. 

Cleft  was  the  apple. 
Down  on  the  green  sward 
Tumbled  the  bright  halves. 
But  like  an  aspen 
Trembled  the  maiden. 
She  who  so  calmly 
Waited  the  arrow, 
Standing  like  statue 
Carved  out  of  marble, 
Motionless,  silent; 

71 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Now  felt  her  bosom 
Rising  and  falling, 
Heaving  like  ocean, 
Heard  her  heart  beating 
Hard  as  a  hammer, 
And  o'er  her  blue  eyes 
Pressed  her  slim  fingers, 
Shivering  and  weeping. 

Shouted  the  people, 
Wept  all  the  women, 
Swore  every  gray-beard 
Ne'er  was  such  shooting, 
Laughed  the  grim  vikings 
With  pride  and  with  pleasure, 
Better  than  Eric 
Never  lived  bowman. 
Only  the  old  king 
Crimsoned  with  anger, 
''Wherefore  that  arrow 
Stuck  in  thy  girdle? 
One  would  have  done  thee." 

Answered  the  archer: 
"King,  for  thy  bosom 

72 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

That  was  intended, 

Had  my   hand  failed  me." 

Then  to  the  cruel 
Eyes  of  the  other 
Hate  flew  and  fury; 
Demons  of  Nastrond 
Glared  from  those  windows; 
And,  as  if  stricken 
By  the  fierce  lightning 
Of  his  own  passion, 
Down  from  his  saddle, 
Dead  on  the  greensward, 
Rolled  the  Red  Monarch. 

Few  there  were  loved  him; 
Tyrant  imperious 
He  in  his  winter; 
Stern,  unrelenting. 
But  he  a  viking 
Wonderful  had  been; 
And  like  a  viking's 
His  mausoleum. 


73 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

On  a  high  mountain, 
Covered  with  forests, 
Save  where  it  lifted, 
Clear  of  all  mantle, 
Sternly  its  bare  head — 
Which  like  a  war-god 
Sat  by  the  ocean , 
Stars  on  his  forehead, 
Pines  in  his  right  hand, 
Dreaming  of  battle — 
Here,  on  the  summit, 
Laid  they  the  monarch. 

Then,  in  the  temple 
Holy  of  Balder; 
One  day  were  wedded 
Eric  the  Archer, 
Signe  the  maiden. 
Merry  with  music 
The  bridal  procession; 
Mighty  the  banquet 
When  in  the  great-hall 
Eric  held  wassail. 
Heir  to  the  throne  he, 
74 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Royal  his  race  was, 
Offspring  of  Odin. 
High  in  the  king's  seat 
Drank  he  the  brown  ale; 
Round  him  his  warriors 
Jovially  teasted; 
And  close  beside  him, 
Fair  as  a  lily 
In  a  wild  forest, 
Or  as  a  bright  star 
Shining  'mid  storm-clouds, 

Sat  his  Queen,  Signe. 

FINALE. 

The  clock  in  Upland's  inn  struck  one; 
The  burgher's  old-world  tale  was  done; 
He  ceased;  and  for  a  moment's  space, 
None  speaking,  silence  filled  the  place; 
Broken  only  by  the  sound  of  rain 
And  wind  in  tree  and  on  the  pane; 
Then,  and  its  warmth  the  tempest  drowned, 
The  applause  of  hand  and  voice  went  round. 

But  in  the  narrator's  bearded  face, 
Fired  by  this  saga  of  his  race, 

75 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Lingered  a  look,  as  though,  in  dreams, 
Still  he  rehearsed  Odinic  themes, 
And,  from  this  peaceful  Upland  far, 
Wandered  within  that  past  of  war. 
And,  truly,  like  a  viking  old, 
Skillful  in  storm,  in  battle  bold, 
He  seemed:  one  born  on  this  late  stage, 
But  made  for  that  heroic  age, 
When  Harold  scoured  the  Hebrides, 
And  Rolf  the  Ganger  sailed  the  seas. 

VII. 

THE  FALL  OF  FORT  CHRISTINA 

The  capture  of  Fort  Christina,  by  the  Dutch  under 
Stuyvesant,  September  25,  1655,  ended  the  Swedish 
dominion  on  the  Delaware;  but  the  bulk  of  the  popu 
lation,  including  the  principal  land-owners,  were  still 
Swedes;  and  down  to  the  coming  of  William  Penn 
there  was  little  change  in  the  general  aspect  of  the 
colony.  After  the  advent  of  the  English,  however, 
the  Swedish  tongue  gradually  fell  into  disuse,  though 
the  old  customs  and  manners  of  dressing  lingered  for 

76 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

many  years  along  the  river.  Down  to  the  close  of  the 
Revolution,  a  period  of  almost  a  century  and  a  half 
from  the  founding  of  the  colony,  ministers  were  reg 
ularly  sent  from  Sweden,  at  the  expense  of  the  crown, 
to  supply  the  spiritual  wrants  of  the  churches  in 
Pennsylvania,  Delaware  and  New  Jersey.  The  last 
of  these  clergymen  was  Nicholas  Collin,  who  arrived 
in  the  colony  in  1770,  and  who,  for  a  period  of  45 
years,  presided  over  the  church  of  Gloria  Dei,  at  Wic- 
caco,  Philadelphia.  It  was  not  until  his  death,  in  the 
year  1831,  that  the  Swedish  mission  can  really  be 
said  to  have  ceased. 

PART    FIRST. 

1. 

When  Sweden  sent  bold  Minuit  out, 
With  soldiers  brave,  and  farmers  stout, 
To  plant,  prepared  for  peace  or  war, 
A  colony  on  new- world  shore, 
His  ships  into  this  river  burst, 
Upon  this  shore  he  landed  first, 
And,  built  of  logs  of  hemlock  wood, 
Here  was  it  his  gallant  fortress  stood. 

77 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

2. 

Christina,  fort  and  woodland  green 
He  named,  in  honor  of  his  queen;1 
Christina,  too,  he  named  the  stream 
Which  wandered  by,  with  purl  and  gleam, 
Till  in  the  brown  flood  of  the  river 
Its  gentler  waves  were  lost  forever. 
Here  many  a  year  that  banner  hung 
Beneath  whose  folds  the  scald  once  sung; 
Here,  with  his  blue  eyes  filled  with  dreams 
Of  what  wise  science  folly  deems, 
At  night  the  Swedish  soldier  saw 
In  heaven  fair  Freya's  distaff  shine, 
And,  like  a  flame,  great  Odin  draw 
Across  the  north  his  beard  divine. 

3. 

But  came  a  time  when  wrath   did  stir 
The  bosom  of  the  Hollander, 
And,  like  a  toper  from  his  dram, 
Awoke  to  arms  New- Amsterdam. 

1  Queen  Christina  of  Sweden,  the  daughter  of  Gustavus  Adolphus. 
The  stream  is  now  called  Christiana,  a  name  which,  to  the  writer,  seems 
not  so  good  as  the  original  title,  being  entirely  without  historical 
significance. 

78 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Between  its  burghers  red  and  stout, 
And  the  fair  Swede  of  Tinicum, 
Had  rattled  many  a  warlike  drum, 
Precursor  of  the  coming  bout. 
But  while  from  Scandinavian  air, 
Still  echoed,  like  a  trumpet's  blare, 
The  sound  of  Lutzen  round  the  world, 
And  Sweden  sat  with  flag  unfurled, 
And  o'er  these  far  domains  yet  shone 
The  glory  of  Gustavus'  throne, 
The  captains  of  New-Netherlands, 
Drank  down  their  ale  with  bloodless  hands, 
Nor  sought  to  try  their  valiant  flints 
Against  the  haughty  sword  of  Printz. 
Dimmed  now,  however,  was  the  fame 
Which  gallant  Sweden  then  had  won; 
Less  potent,  with   each  passing  sun, 
The  prestige  of  the  Scandian  name. 
No  more  to  godly  strife  marched  forth 
The  bearded  conquerors  of  the  north, 
But  Stockholm's  palaces  of  state 
Re-echoed  oft  with  revels  late. 
Gone  was  the  great  Gustavus  now, 
And  on  Christina's  wayward  brow 

79 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

(Though  child  she  was  of  genius  true) 

Irksome  the  cares  of  empire  grew, 

Till  came  a  time  when  (none  too  soon, 

For  wreckage  had  her  path  bestrewn) 

Lightly  the  daughter  cast  aside 

The  crown  for  which  her  father  died. 

And  now— who  knows  what  will  betide? 

So  in  the  brain  of  Stuyvesant, 

The  gallant  governor  of  Manhattan, 

Was  borne  a  wondrous  scheme  to  plant 

Proud  Holland's  flag  where  now  did  fatten, 

On  many  a  rolling  river-mead, 

The  sheep  and  cattle  of  the  Swede; 

And  when,  his  spirit  to  inflame, 

News  of  another  insult  came, 

Of  sons  of  Holland  forced  to  bow 

Before  the  haughty  Northmen  low, 

He  swore,  by  many  a  warlike  sire, 

Vengeance  immediate  and  dire. 

4. 

A  chief  as  terrible  was  he 
As  ever  led  by  land  or  sea. 
Blue  was  the  lordly  coat  he  wore, 

80 


SONGS   OF   NEW-SWEDEN 

And  bright  with  buttons  down  before, 
And  by  his  trousers,  gay  and  wide, 
Dangled  a  sword  of  temper  tried. 
In  battles  fierce  and  memorable 
Well  had  he  fought,  so  ran  the  fable, 
And  many  an  insolent  head  laid  low 
When  governor  of  Curacao. 
There  was  it,  by  the  tropic  seas, 
In  combat  with  the  Portuguese, 
That  he  had  lost  the  valourous  leg, 
Replaced,  now,  by  a  silver  peg. 

5. 

Extensive  was  the  preparation: 
Unprecedented  the  sensation: 

From  morn  till  night, 

In  raiment  bright, 
Strutted  the  warriors  of  the  nation. 
Keen  were  the  weapons  which  they  twirled; 
Fierce  were  the  oaths  they  from  them  hurled; 
Never  before,   this  side  the  world, 
Was  mightier  host,   nor  huger  ration. 
At  last,  with  twice  four  hundred  men, 
And  seven  staunch  ships,   a  gallant  sight, 

81 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Beyond  the  wondering  city's  ken 
Sailed  Stuyvesant  unto  the  fight. 

PART    SECOND. 

1. 

Over  New-Sweden's  gentle  land, 
Its  fertile  fields,  its  river  strand, 
Where  dwelt,  in  many  a  peaceful  home, 
The  children  of  the  Baltic's  foam,— 
Whose  fathers  to  these  self-same  shores, 
With  gleaming  prow  and  brawny  oars, 
Old  legends  tell  us  once  did  roam;— 
Over  this  land  of  loveliness, 
This  land  which  summer  now  did  bless 
With  waters  sweet,  and  fragrant  air, 
And  all  things  bounteous  and  fair; 
Ruled  Rising,  the  new  governor, 
With  men-at-arms  perhaps  three- score. 

2. 

From  Fort  Christina's  ramparts  old 
Floated  his  flag  with  aspect  bold; 
Listlessly,  in  the  summer's  heat, 
Bach  stalwart  sentry  paced  his  beat; 

82 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Silent  for  many  a  year  had  been 

Those  cannon  glowering  o'er  the  scene. 

Only  when  up  the  river  came 

Some  trading  Dutchman,  full  of  wine, 

How  fiercely,  threatening  awful  flame, 

Frowned  each  and  all  along  the  line.1 

Naught  dreamed  the  jovial  chief  of  ill 

As,  on  this  afternoon  so  still, 

His  glass  with  Malmsey  he  did  fill. 

3. 

Like  meteor  unforeseen  and  dire, 
Hurled  by  a  superhuman  ire, 
Came  Stuyvesant  upon  the  land; 
Ere  once  his  cannoneers  did  shoot, 
Fort  Casimer,    with  richest  loot, 
Fell  low  before  his  mighty  hand; 
Then,  while  his  hosts  with  triumph  burned, 
He  on  Christina  swiftly  turned. 

4. 

From  fugitives,  who  bore  the  word, 
Brave  Rising  had  the  tidings  heard; 

1  All    ships   ascending  the   river  were   obliged   to  lie  to,  and  secure  a. 
permit  from  the  Governor,  before  they  were  allowed  to  proceed. 

83 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

And  strove  his  men,  by  day  and  night, 
To  fit  the  fortress  for  the  fight. 
Few  were  they  at  the  drum's  stern  call, 
A  round  or  two  had  they  in  all, 
And  when  the  frowning  battery  old 
Once  had  pronounced  its  challenge  bold, 
Silent  each  gun  must  stand  and  cold; 
But  when  fair  Sweden  called  to  arms, 
Welcome  were  toil  and  war's  alarms. 

5. 

With  trumpets  playing  loud  and  fierce, 
And  glittering  steel,  the  Swede  to  pierce, 
And  deafening  drums,  and  gaudy  flags, 
And  booty  rich,  which  somewhat  lags; 
With  war-ships  gay  and  terrible, 
Whose  guns  the  strongest  forte  could  fell, 
Whose  sailors,  veterans  of  the  seas, 
The  highest  wall  could  scale  with  ease; 
Taking  all  things  their  hands  could  touch 
To  Fort  Christina  came  the  Dutch. 

6. 

Loudly  they  laughed, 

Deeply  they  quaffed, 
84 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Fiercely  was  clutched  each  weapon's  haft, 

As,  through  the  sweet  September  air, 

When  eve  had  hushed  their  trumpets'  blare, 

They  saw  the  banner  of  the  Swede, 

Waving  above  the  river  reed. 

But  more  than  empty  scoff  and  rant 

Intended  Peter  Stuyvesant; 

And,  with  the  morning  drum,  was  sent 

A  message  from  his  lordly  tent; 

The  salutations  of  the  sender, 

And  summons  to  a  swift  surrender. 

7. 

Arrayed  in  coat  so  blue  and  bright, 
And  trousers  red,  a  gallant  sight, 
And  bearing  high  an  ensign  white, 
Went  forth  the  messenger  of  truce; 
Scarce  could  the  summons  have  been  heard, 
Scarce  time  was  there  to  bring  the  word, 
When  back  he  came,  like  a  game-bird 
Strutting,  whose  warlike  ire  is  loose. 

8. 

When  he  the  governor  addressed, 
Bold  Rising  knew  not  what  he  meant; 

85 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

And  when  he  further  spoke,  expressed 

Amazement  at  the  fell  intent. 

Peace  ruled  on  the  South  River's  shore; 

Wherefore  did  Holland  threaten  war? 

But  still,  as  to  capitulation, 

'Twas  not  the  habit  of  the   nation. 

Wondered  the  chief  that  he  a  Swede 

Should  ask  to  do  so  weak   a  deed; 

Without  the  firing  of  a  gun, 

Before  the  passing  of  a  sun. 

No;  to  the  head  from  whom  he  came, 

A  captain  not  unknown  to  fame, 

He  must  return;  and  here  should  wave, 

Forevermore  proud  Sweden's  banner. 

Thus  spoke,  with  scorn,   the  governor  brave; 

Curt  was  his  word,  and  curt  his  manner. 

9. 

Then  rose  the  hosts  of  Stuyvesant, 
And  batteries  on  the  hills  did  plant; 
And  round  Christina,  through  the  night, 
Blazed  the  invaders'  camp-fires  bright. 
Fat  were  the  swine  they  stole,  I  wis; 
Fair  were  the  maids  they  sought  to  kiss; 

86 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

A  land  so  bountiful  as  this 
Not  often  lay  before  their  sight, 
Not  often  fell  before  their  might. 

PART    THIRD. 

1. 

vSilent,  beside  a  silent  gun, 
John  Rising  stood,  the  governor. 
Food  for  his  soldiers  there  was  none, 
Gone  was  his  powder  long  before. 
Hard  fate.     It  was  the  fourteenth  day 
Since,  all  accoutred  for  the  fray, 
The  hosts  of  Netherland  had  burst 
Upon  this  valley,   never  cursed 
Before  by  war  and  warrior's  wit 
Since  Sweden's  flag  had  sheltered  it. 
It  was  that  day  when,  dark  with  shame, 
To  Sweden's  shore  should  fly  his  name. 

2. 

Uprose  his  eyes  unto  the  spot 
Where,  like  a  beauteous  sunset  cloud, 
The  banner  of  his  country  shone. 
To-morrow's  dawn  would  see  it  not. 

87 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Upon  his  breast  his  head  was  bowed. 
He  heard  the  Holland  trumpet  blown. 

3. 

With  arms  and  kit, 

As  did  befit 

Men  who  in  glory's  book  had  writ 
Their  names  on  Lutzen's  field  of  blood, 
His  soldiers  marched  out  of  the  fort, 
And  home  to  Gottenburg's  far  port 
Were  sent,  across  the  ocean's  flood. 

4. 

Then  all  the  fair  South  River  lands 
Lay  low  beneath  the  invader's  hands, 
And  proud  the  flag  of  Holland  flew 
Above  sad  hearts  to  Sweden  true. 
But  years  of  triumph  were  there  few. 
For  England,  conquering  land  and  sea, 
Soon  brought  the  Dutchman  to  his  knee, 
And  to  great  Penn's  benignant  hand 
Was  given  this  bright  and  goodly  land. 


88 


SONGS  OP  NEW-SWEDEN 

VIII. 
BLACKBEARD. 

The  exploits  of  the  pirate  Blackbeard,  in  the  early 
part  of  the  eighteenth  century,  form  a  narrative 
almost  as  thrilling  as  those  of  his  fellow-corsair  Kidd. 
His  real  name  was  Edward  Teach,  and  he  was  a 
native  of  Bristol,  England;  but  he  was  commonly 
known,  on  account  of  his  long  black  beard  (which  he 
used  to  cherish  by  tying  it  up  with  ribbons),  by  the 
title  of  Blackbeard.  He  was  as  renowned  in  love  as 
in  war,  and  is  said  to  have  had,  at  one  time,  as  many  as 
fourteen  wives,  scattered  about  in  his  various  rendez 
vous.  He  haunted  the  coast  of  the  colonies  from 
New  Jersey  to  Florida,  and  the  Islands  of  the  West 
Indies  were  among  his  favorite  resorts.  He  also  fre 
quented  the  Delaware  River  and  Bay,  along  the  shores 
of  which  he  was  thought  to  have  buried  immense 
quantities  of  treasure;  and  at  one  time  he  is  said  to 
have  contemplated  an  attack  on  Philadelphia.  Many 
of  his  revels  took  place  in  the  house  of  an  old  Swedish 
woman  at  Marcus  Hook.  He  was  killed  in  a  conflict 
off  the  coast  of  Virginia  in  the  year  1717. 

89 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

PART    FIRST. 

Down  the  Delaware,  some  miles 
From  the  salt  air  of  the  Bay, 

Where  the  mighty  stream  still  whiles 
Slumberingly  along  his  way, 

vStands  the  little  town  which  took 

Somehow  the  name  of  Marcns  Hook. 

Founded  by  the  blue-eyed  Swede 

Was  it  in  the  days  of  old, 
When  o'er  forest,  flood  and  mead 

Ruled  John  Printz,  the  governor  bold, 
And  the  music  of  the  drum 
Echoed  over  Tinicum. 

Empty  is  the  village  street 
On  this  wild  September  night, 

All  deserted  by  men's  feet, 

Though  the  winds  are  in  their  might, 

When,  in  groups  of  three  or  four, 

Come  some  figures  up  the  shore. 

From  the  misty  river-places, 

Where  the  fish-hawk  has  his  home, 
90 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

With  their  cloaks  about  their  faces, 

Like  conspirators  they  come, 
Striding  through  the  rainy  night 
Toward  the  tavern's  glimmering  light. 

How  the  equinoctial  blows! 

Down  about  the  salty  capes, 
Where  the  wrecker's  beacon  glows, 

Early  morning  shipwrecked  shapes 
Shall  discover,  cold  and  wan, 
Thinks  Dame  Rambo  of  "The  Swan." 

Daughter  of  a  Norseman  she, 

Who  with  Minuit  sought  this  shore, 

Wandering  over  land  and  sea, 
As  his  sires  had  done  of  yore, 

And  by  Delaware's  brown  flood 

Learned  to  calm  his  viking  blood. 

Little  cares  she  for  the  gale, 
Slam  of  shutter,  dash  of  rain, 

Drawing  for  her  patrons  ale 

Thor  himself  would  not  disdain, 

Such  as  once,   'mid  song  and  story, 

Foamed  o'er  Thule's  hills  in  glory. 


91 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Later  points  the  ancient  clock, 

Standing  grimly  by  the  wall; 
"Ten" — its  wizard  bells  now  knock 

In  their  tower  so  dark  and  tall; 
Few  the  guests  that  still  remain, 
When  a  sound  comes  from  the  rain: 

Steps  and  voices — those  of  men- 
Shaking  out  of  storm-drenched  cloaks 

On  the  tavern  porch — and  then 

In  the  door,  with  beard  which  smokes 

From  the  wet,  tempestuous  night, 

Walks  a  figure  to  the  light. 

Tall  and  most  fantastic  dressed— 

Round  his  shoulders  drawn  a  cape- 
Scarlet  had  it  been  at  best, 

Now,   about  his  lusty  shape, 
Like  a  sea-waif,  breaker  flung, 
Faded  by  the  wave  it  hung. 

Tied  in  knots  with  ribbons  gay 

Was  the  sable  beard  he  wore; 
Bright  he  smiled  (so  gleams  the  day 

Through  dark  clouds  when  tempests  roar) 
92 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Bowed  and  from  his  low-bent  head 
Took  a  cap  bizarre:  then  said: 

"  Madam,  to  your  goodly  cheer 
Could  I  bring-  my  comrades  in? 

Wild  the  night  outside  and  drear. 
From  the  storm's  on-coming  din 

Took  we  refuge  in  the  bay. 

Sailors  are  we,  frank  and  gay." 

From  the  tables  where  they  sat, 
Hard  the  village  gossips  stared; 

In  their  hands  the  ale  grew  flat, 
But  no  word  nor  sign  they  dared 

As  Dame  Rambo  to  the  tall 

Guest  replied:     uBe  welcome  all!" 

Then,  in  costumes  bright  and  strange, 
With  a  foreign  air  about  them, 

As  though,  in  their  merry  range, 

Few  the  seas  had  been  without  them, 

Came  these  mariners,  no  man 

Knew  from  whence,  into  "The  Swan." 


93 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

PART    SECOND. 

How  they  drank  the  bitter  ale! 

How  their  bonny  beards  did  wag! 
Like  the  berserks,  bold  and  hale, 

Who  beneath  some  forebear's  flag 
Once  held  Yule-tide  revelries, 
Seemed  they  to  Dame  Rambo's  eyes. 

Midnight — struck  the  old  Norse  clock; 

Louder  rang  the  jovial  laugh; 
More  than  any  of  his  wild  flock 

Did  the  gay  first-comer  quaff; 
Sitting  near  the  fire-place  wide, 
With  a  beaker  by  his  side. 

Red  the  flames  shone  on  his  face; 

Lit  a  belted  dagger's  hilt; 
"Madam,"  quoth  he,   "by  your  grace 

I  a  sailor's  song  will  lilt." 
Then,  with  pantomime  which  ran 
With  his  singing,  he  began. 


94 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

SONG. 
1. 

"Down  in  the  sea-sands, 

Where  the  gull  screams, 
Buried  by  my  hands, 

Bright  treasure  gleams. 
O'er  it  a  pale  ghost 

Hovers  for  ever; 
Him  from  his  mammon 

Death  cannot  sever; 
Where  his  gold  glittered 

Aye  was  his  soul; 
Therefore  I  killed  him 

To  guard    it   from    mole- 
Killed  him  to  guard  it 

From  man  and  from  mole. 

2. 


<  < 


I  a  gallant  am 
For  whom    doves    wrangle; 
In  my  beard's  meshes 

Sweet  hearts  I  tangle. 
Far  in  Barbados, 

Where  grows  the  cane, 
95 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Seven  lovely  lady-birds 

Deck  I  with  gain. 
Five  in  the  Carolines, 

Three  here  I  kiss; 
Wedded  with  priest-book 

Each  one,  I  wis — 
Wedded  with  candles 

And  priest-book,  I  wis. 

3. 

"I  am  the  pirate, 

Blackbeard,  the  rover. 
Under  my  red  nag 

I  skim  the  seas  over. 
Keen  is  my  cutlass, 

Cold  as  my  heart 
When  against  foemen 

Bear  I  my  part. 
But  when  from  fair  hands 

Bubbles  the  cheer, 
Who  more  benign 

Than  the  bold  buccaneer? — 
Gay  and  benign 

Than  the  bold  buccaneer?'1 
96 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Silent  for  a  moment's  space 

Was  the  tavern  when  he  ceased, 

Save  that  still,  outside  the  place, 
Roared  the  tempest  from  the  east, 

Then — a  bacchanalian  sound — 

Went  the  rovers'  plaudits  round. 

Pale  the  villagers  with  fright. 

This  the  Blackbeard  and  his  crew, 
Of  whose  deeds  the  pitchy  night 

Was  the  only  emblem  true? 
This  the  pirate  who  along 
All  the  coast  had  stamped  his  wrong? 

But  in  old  dame  Rambo's  eyes 
Calmly  shone  their  wonted  light; 

Terror  weak  she  did  despise; 
Courage  was  her  race's  right; 

Something  even  did  she  ken 

Which  she  loved  in   these   wild    men. 

And  when  from  his  fire-lit  seat — 

While  the  others  round  him  stand- 
Rose  the  captain  to  his  feet, 
With  a  beaker  in  his  hand, 
97 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Smiled  she,  as  each  sea-dog  hale 
Drank  her  health  in  nut-brown  ale. 

Then,  while  every  gossip  wondered, 
From  beneath  his  scarlet  cape 

Blackbeard  drew  a  bag,  and  sundered 
All  its  tightly- twisted  tape. 

Lo,  what  gold  and  silver  bright 

Lay  before  Dame  Rambo's  sight! 

" Madam,  ere  once  more  we  fly 
O'er  the  deep,  take  this  souvenir; 

Never,  under  any  sky 

Have  we  tasted  better  cheer — 

I  and  my  bold  corsair  band." 

Thus  he  spoke,  with  cap  in  hand. 

Low  he  bowed,  as  when  he  entered: 
"Now,  my  merry  men,  away!" 

On  them  were  all  gazes  centered 
Till  were  gone  their    figures    gay; 

And  "The  Swan's"  lamps  dimly   shone 

On  the  villagers  alone. 


98 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

IX 
THE  DREAM  OF  ISAAC  THE  QUAKER 

While  Isaac  and  His  wife  were  under  exercise  and 
concern  of  mind  about  so  weighty  an  undertaking 
(removing  to  America),  and  desirous  that  best  wis 
dom  should  direct,  Isaac  had  a  dream  or  vision  to 
this  import:  That  having  landed  with  his  family  in 
America,  he  traveled  a  considerable  distance  back 
into  the  country  until  he  came  to  a  valley,  through 
which  ran  a  pretty  stream  of  water.  The  prospect 
and  situation  of  the  place  seemed  pleasant — a  hill  ris 
ing  on  the  north  and  a  fine  spring  issuing  near  its 
foot;  and  in  his  dream  he  thought  that  there  he  and 
his  family  must  settle,  though  then  a  wilderness  and 
unimproved.  Records  of  Friends  Meeting,  London- 
grove,  Chester  Co.,  Pennsylvania. 

O  spirit  of  that  Quaker  sire  of  mine, 

To  whom  God  gave  these  lovely  Chester  lands, 

These  fertile  fields,  where  golden  harvests  shine, 
These   meadows   green,    where    the   herd,    grazing, 
stands, 

99 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Be  with  me  now,  and  stretch  thy  blessing  hands 
Above  me,  that  I  may  have  grace  to  tell 
That  story  which  thy  children  love  so  well! 

Born  of  a  martyr  race  whose  suffering  veins 
Had  poured  their  life  out  under  Mary's  rule, 

Within  his  soul  that  trust  which  never  wanes, 
That  zeal  which  persecution  cannot  cool, 
Isaac  loved  God,   and  through  the  bitter  school 

Of  harsh  intolerance  held  the  Father's  hand, 

And  heard  the  music  of  the  better  land. 

And  on  one  night  in  summer,   when  the  moon 
Made  all  the  landscape  like  a  phantasm  seem, 

And  earth  lay  hushed,  as  though  an  angel  soon 
Would    step  from    Heaven,    like   those    in    Jacob's 

dream, 
There  came  to  Isaac,  down  a  mystic  beam 

Of  moonlight,  or  in  some  diviner  way, 

A  vision  beautiful  as  Eden's  day. 

Appeared  a  peaceful  vale,   (through  which  a    stream, 
Meandering    flowed,     sparkling     beneath     heaven's 
light;) 

100 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Sheltered  upon  the  north,  so  seemed    his  dream, 
Ity  a  green  hill,  some  future  homestead's  site; 
Thence  issued,  from  a  spring,  the  streamlet  bright. 
And  even  as  Isaac  gazed  a  voice  he  heard 
Like  that  which  once  to  Moses  spoke  the  Word. 

"Arise,  there  is  a  home  beyond  the  seas, 

Which    thou    hast    seen    this    night,    for    thee    and 
thine; 

There,  through  the  depths  of  the  primeval  trees, 
My  sun  shall  light  thee,  and  iny  moon  shall  shine; 
Still  shalt  thou,  of  my  omnipresence  sign, 

Behold  the  stars  of  midnight  blazon  me; 

Fear  not,  but  know  that  ever  I  am  with  thee." 

When  Isaac  woke  he  saw  above  the  lea, 

Descending  in  the  occidental  sky, 
Morning's  pale  moon;  and  heard  the  psalmody 

Of  the  early  birds,  in  joyous  choirs  on  high; 

And  in  his  soul  he  knew  that  God  was  nigh; 
And  knelt;  and  round  him,  in  that  hour  divine, 
He  felt  the  glory  of  Jehovah  shine. 


101 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Then  toward  that  spot,  forever,  seemed  to  point 
The  hand  of  God  where  Penn's  sweet  wisdom 
ruled; 

That  spot  which  L,ove  and  Freedom  did  anoint 
As  refuge  for  all  men,  however  schooled; 
Where  from  the  fires  of    scorn    the    Quaker    cooled 

His  mystic  brows;  and  in  whose  peace,  anew, 

Dwelt  seer  and  scholar,   infidel  and  Jew. 

So  Isaac,  reverent,  rose;  and,  with  his  home, 
Beloved  wife  and  children,  round  him  still, 

Crossed,  as  had  others,  those  wild  fields  of  foam, 
Those  wind-swept  waters,  where  the  sea-bird    shrill 
Chanted  to  ears  which  loved  the  sky-lark's  trill. 

At  last,  one  summer  evening,  lo,  the  Capes! 

The  smell  of  land!     The  visions  fancy  shapes! 

Came  next  the  broad- spread  river,  and  the  shores 
Of  oak  and  hemlock,  and  the  red-brick  town; 

And  boats  of  landing,  on  whose  dripping  oars 
The  sunshine  turned  to  gold  the  waters  brown. 
But  in  his  soul  a  voice  he  could  not  drown 

Spoke  unto  Isaac  ever:     "Not  yet,  not  yet; 

On,  till  thine  eyes  the  promised  spot  have  met!" 

102 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Then  through  the  depths  of  the  primeval  trees, 
As  God  had  bidden  him,  the  Quaker    went; 

From  unknown  lands  he  felt  the  western  breeze 
Blow  fresh  and  fragrant,  as  by    kind    Heaven    sent 
To  lead  him  onward;  and  when  evening    blent 

The  glories  of  the  sunset  for  her  crown, 

Through  silent  woods  the  thrush's    song   came    down. 

Few  homes  where  here,  but  hospitable  hands 
Recalled,   in  each,  the  England  of  his  sires; 

And  on  the  third  night  came  he  to  some  lands 
Whose  aspect  woke  within   him  prescient  fires; 
And  when,  above  the  forest's  mighty  spires, 

Uprose  the  morning  sun,  he  saw  the  stream, 

The  spring,  the  hill,   the  valley  of  his  dream! 

Then  on  the  soul  of  Isaac  fell  a  light 
As  from  the  everlasting  throne  of  God; 

And,   to  the  world  external  blinded  quite, 
He  knelt,  in  silent  prayer,  upon  the  sod. 
Lifted,  henceforth,    was  persecution's  rod; 

While    ample  harvests  bounteous  nature  bore. 

Still  from  these  hills  his  children  Heaven  adore! 


103 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

X 

KELPIUS'S  HYMN 

John  Kelpius,  the  well-known  hermit  and  mystic  of 
the  Wissahickon,  was  a  believer  in  the  near  approach 
of  the  Millennium;  and,  according  to  Watson,  once 
told  Alexander  Mack,  the  Tunker  preacher,  of  Ger- 
mantown,  that  he  expected  to  live  to  see  it.  In  a 
letter  to  a  friend  he  speaks  of  observing  carefully  all 
celestial  phenomena,  such  as  "meteors,  stars,  and  va 
rious  colors  of  the  sky;  if,  per  ad  venture,  you  may  be 
hold  at  last  an  harbinger." 

1. 
O  God,  thy  moon  is  on  the  hills, 

Thy  stars  are  in  the  sky, 
Thy  Spirit  this  mortal  vessel  fills, 

I  feel  the  end  is  nigh; 
Swift  meteors  flame  across  the  north, 

The  golden  planets  wheel  and  sink, 
Soon  steps  thy  trumpet-angel  forth 

From  Heaven's  eternal  brink; 
Then  peace  illumes  these  warlike  ways, 

Christ's  joyful  chiliad  has  its  birth, 
104 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

A  round  of  Eden's  perfect  days, 

Thy  kingdom  conies  upon  the  earth! 

2. 
My  eyes  are  dim,  my  hands  are  weak, 

My  soul  is  scarred  with  sin, 
But  day  and  night  thy  Word  I  seek, 

That  I  a  crown  may  win; 
Cleanse  thou  and  make  my  spirit  pure 

As  are  the  spirits  of  thy  saints, 
Like  them   in  bliss  would  I  endure, 

When  earthly  body  faints; 
Far  up  on  Heaven's  resplendent  height 

I  hear  the  circling  cherubs  sing, 
As  downward  to  this  world  of  night 

The  New- Jerusalem  they  bring! 

XI. 
INDIAN  ROCK:     WISSAHICKON. 

1. 
Far  from  the  troubled  city's  sights  and  sounds, 

I  lay  upon  a  rock  in  dreamful  mood; 
Where  voice  of  man  the  silence  seldom  wounds, 

And  flows  the  Wissahickon's  winding  flood. 

105 


SOXGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Round  me  the  green-leafed  forest  seemed  to  brood. 
And  on  the  rock,  facing  the  golden  west, 

The  figure  of  an  Indian,  carved  of  wood, 
With  bow  in  hand,   and  like  a  warrior  drest, 
Stood,  gazing  o'er  the  vales  lying  beneath  at  rest. 

2. 

The  sunset  streamed  upon  him:    round  the  rock 
The  warm  light  lay,   and  lit  the  gap,  and  shot 

Long  lances  in  the  wood  on  bush  and  stock. 
He  stood  as  in  the  days  which  now  are  not, 
Of  mighty  hunts,   and  tourneys  long  and  hot, 

And  seeming  almost  human  in  the  glow, 
Aye,  superhuman,  in  that  heaven  his  lot 

Of  fierce,   accoutred  ghosts  who,  to  and  fro, 

Chase  ever  over  mystic  hills  the  antlered  foe. 

3. 

A  legend  of  a  time  of  dwindling  tribes, 

And  dying  camp-fires  up  and  down  the  land, 

And  loss  of  all  the  savage  mind  imbibes 
As  dearest,  and  the  flight  of  many  a  band 
Toward  prairie  vast,  or  distant  desert's  sand; 

Of  spiritless  hunts  by  broken-hearted  men 

106 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

WTho,  hunting,  stopped  and  pressed  with  sullen  hand 
The  branches  back,  and  saw  the  stranger's  den, 
Then  quickly  sought  their  native  wilderness  again. 

4. 
Here,  through  the  early  twilight  of  the  wood, 

Followed   by  braves  who  loved  the  green  oak  tree, 
And,   after  intervals,   by  more,   who  stood 

About  the  place,   all  waiting  silently, 

Came  he,  the  king,   who  felt  the  breezes  free 
Blow  from  the  sunset  o'er  lands  once  for  him, 

Proud  chieftain  of  the  L,enni-Lenape, 
And  went  up  on  the  rock,  from  spaces  dim, 
Into  a  place  sun-lit,   nor  masked  by  bush  nor  limb. 

5. 
The  forest  of  his  fathers  slumbered  round  him, 

And  far  below  the  waters  met  his  gaze 
Of  Wissahickon,  that  sweet  stream  which  bound  him 

Unto  her  like  her  child:  down  the  steep  maze 

Looking,  through  branches  of   the  oak,    and  sprays 
Of  ancient  hemlock,   tipped  with  summer  green, 

He  saw  the  river  of  his  boyhood  days: 
Gently  he  saw  her  flow  and  then,  unseen 
Awhile,  run  out,  and  far  away,  long  hills  between. 

107 


SONGS  OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

6. 

The  dying  sun  burned  on  his  swarthy  face, 

Then  sank  and    left    him,  standing  stern  and  still, 
Like  that  red  figure  which,  in  this  lone  place, 

Now  broods  and  watches,  set  by  some  kind  skill. 

Behind,  in  groups  upon  the  wooded  hill, 
With  war-paint  painted,  and  for  battle  drest, 

His  braves,  long-limbed;    and  there  the  women  fill 
A  verdant  niche,  and  with  the  children  rest  - 
Last  remnant  of  the  tribe  to  seek  the  boundless  West. 

7. 
The  chieftain  turned,  the  vales  looked  up  and  saw 

His  figure  moving  from  them  mournfully. 
A  new  moon  glittered  on  his  hatchet's  claw, 

Then  kissed  the  crag  where  ne'er  again  stands  he. 

They  rose,  his  band  of  Lenni-Lenape, 
They  followed  him,  they  crossed  the  woods  by  night, 

In  single,  silent  file  like  ghosts  that  flee; 
They  disappeared  for  ever  from  the  sight 
Of   these   fair   hills   and   vales   and  streams,    so  long 
their  right. 


108 


EPILOGUE 

The  sunset  burns  upon  the  river, 

Its  glories  fade  and  die, 
But  up  the  paths  of  night  come  ever 

The  children  of  the  sky. 
So,  when  the  light  of  olden  days 

Sinks  from  before  men's  eyes, 
Fair  visions,   up  the  spirit's  ways, 

Like  stars  of  Heaven,   arise. 

O  vernal  land!    O  river  strand, 

Beside  whose  waving  reed, 
Three  hundred  years  ago,  did  stand 

The  cottage  of  the  Swede! 
Would  that  these  lips,  alas,   so  dumb, 

Could  sing  your  minstrelsy 
As,  from  the  distant  past,   doth  come 

Its  music  unto  me! 


109 


SONGS   OF  NEW-SWEDEN 

Page 

Dedication 7 

Prologue 9 

I.     The  Coming  of  Print/.      ........  1 1 

II.     Printz's  Hall 14 

III.  The  Settlement 16 

IV.  The  Lady  Armagot 21 

V.     Brita 28 

VI.  Eric  the  Archer 47 

VII.  The  Fall  of  Fort  Christina 76 

VIII.  Blackbeard 89 

IX.  The  Dream  of  Isaac  the  Quaker  ....  99 

X.  Kelpius's  Hymn -°4 

XI.  Indian  Rock:     Wissahickon 105 

Epilogue I09 


1111  111  Illl  Ill II  HIM  Hill  IIMI  in ii  in11  •"•'  '• 

A     000  752  680     9 


